AUTHOR'S NOTE: These will most likely be the last few chapters of the first part of the story. I will most likely continue the story in another story, a sequel so to speak, both because of practical reasons (the many chapters do add up and make it hard to scroll and keep track of them all, and I myself personally prefer to not have over ca 80 - 100 chapters in the same story, as it just feels excessive.) and also to signify the framing of the story encompassing ca 298 A.C. and the equivalent of "A GAME OF THRONES". Therefore, I will most likely publish the new story, the sequel, very soon, which will have most of the same character and POVs continue their stories, as well as some new POVs, just like in GRRM's A CLASH OF KINGS.

I have asked what you guys feel about this before and I got some few responses, so thanks to those who answered, but we will see if I continue to update here in this same "document" story, or in a new story called "The Reign of the Wolves: A Clash of Kings" / "A Brawl of Brothers", which will be the sequel.)

Thankyou so much for your support, and please make sure to search for and follow the new story / part of the story, which is book 2 in the order to keep on track with the new chapters! :)

/ Adam Targaryen

...

ARYA VII

"Her Father looked almost regretful as he spoke the words to her, as if he were about to kneel before her. But kings never knelt, Arya knew, and neither did Starks, not since Torrhen Stark's days. Still, her Father had finally seen sense, and Arya was gladder than she could ever have thought for it.

"I was wrong in my judgement", he said. "Nymeria was only doing what she was supposed to when she leapt on Joffrey. I see that now. I am sorry that I have not been able to see so many things until now."

I forgive you, she thought, but said nothing, as he continued on.

"With the end of summer, many things have come that I did not expect to see, and more will come as well. We must look out for eachother. I promise that if she were ever to be found alive again, she shall go free. I will repeal my judgement on her, for all the court to hear."

"Truly? Can she come here and stay with me like Grey Wind and Lady? That's all I wanted."

King Eddard Stark took a deep breath, sighing with tremour, before looking his daughter in the eye.

"If she should return, then yes. I know that she would watch over you better than anyone else, if nothing else. The loyalty of a wolf cannot be bought, bargained with or hidden in secret letters. She is yours."

"Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou!" Arya jumped up from her seat and hugged her father tightly, as he squeezed gently back.

"Though before she returns, I would expect your mother and brothers. Benjen wrote to me telling that she has departed for White Harbour, to take a ship south."

Arya stared up at her father, the tears already in her eyes, now blinking chippily to let them free.

"Truly? And Bran and Rickon are with her as well?"

"They are. He is", Father confirmed.

Arya hugged him once again, feeling the comfort that she had longed for ever since they left Winterfell. Mother would be home soon, and Bran and Rickon as well. It would all be as it were again. Bran could never climb again, sure, but other than that it would be fun. She could help wheel him around the castle, and race him through the halls.

She felt herself getting lighter with every second that she thought about it. Soon she would be able to hop up to the ceiling, and touch the rafters with her blade, just like Syrio claimed that he could do.

"I have another thing to tell you as well", father said. "You will soon get a friend here at court."

"A friend? I have friends", Arya said.

"Perhaps you would like another one. You seem interested in the tales of Princess Nymeria. What if you were given a Dornish friend to play with? Would you like that?"

"Who? Who is it?" She demanded, suddenly excited by the prospect, though she had never thought about it before.

"Trystane Martell, Quentyn's younger brother. Prince Doran writes that he intends to have him fostered here soon, at the turn of the new year. It is important that we strengthen our ties to our allies. And besides, I am sure that he misses his older brother. Perhaps you can all joust together some day. Robb and Quentyn with swords, and you and his brother with your waterdancing."

Arya considered that.

"Maybe. Is he good at jousting, though? Or is he more like Quentyn?"

Her father laughed.

"I do not know, sweet child. We shall see when he comes here. It will be another moon or two, at the least."

...

The common room was quiet, almost too quiet for Arya's liking. But she found her friend there.

Haelda was sitting like a little baby bird nuzzled next to the enveloping red and brown shape of Septa Mordane, both of them knitting, and looking down on their work. Arya had been allowed to not participate in the knitting of late.

She knew that Mother would never have accepted it, but that was at least one of the few good things about her royal mother and little brothers still being away. Father was not as stern towards her, she thought. He had listened when she'd told him she wanted more lessons with Syrio instead of sitting around sewing all day.

Haelda looked up as she approached.

"Arya!", she said.

"Hello, Haelda", Arya smiled.

"Princess", Septa Mordane nodded in a welcoming tone. "You are welcome to join us."

"No thankyou", Arya said. "I simply wanted to speak with Haelda."

"Very well", Mordane said, in a not altogether too disagreeable tone.

Father had taught her well of late, to heel and be chivalrous if she expected the same back, Arya thought. She had cried and cried and screamed at Father about the septa, and how she called her an unruly child for the slightest thing, and almost never called her 'princess'.

Those days were over now, she hoped. She would be treated fairly now. Like Sansa, even, or at least almost. She was her Father's daughter. She was King Eddard Stark's daughter, in face and in spirit, and she would become a fighter, a warrior, just like him. But she would also be a princess, at times.

Haelda showed Arya her knitting, and Arya did her best to pay attention and give her compliments, just like Sansa would to her friends.

She was doing her sigil, the three apple trees of House Wendwater, one summer, one autumn and one winter. The summer tree was green, the autumn was red, and the winter was bare.

Arya studied the red threads of the autumn tree.

"It looks like blood", she noted. "Like a weirwood."

Haelda said nothing, as she looked at her work and thought of the comparison.

"Weirwoods don't have blood in them, dear princess", Septa Mordane trunged her way into the conversation unbid. "Only red sap."

Arya gave the septa a doubtful look, before ignoring her comment. Her uncle Benjen had taught her better than that, up at Winterfell.

The First Men had given sacrifices to their heart trees in ancient times past, he had told her in a secret whisper, as they stood looking at the long stern face of the Winterfell heart tree, as condemned men would have their blood spilled to feed its twisting branches and network of roots wherein the memories of all those lost souls still dwelt.

They were with the old gods, just like the Andals had their seven heavens and seven hells. And the Starks were First Men, though noone had held any such sacrifices in thousands of years. Still, the thought was fascinating.

She had wanted to tell Bran about it, but he was in his sleep and would not wake. Perhaps now, if it was truly so that he and Mother and Rickon would return home, she could tell him at last.

She gave Haelda a brighter red thread and signalled for her to use it, as her friend took her advice. The thought of blood made her think of other things as well, of how Syrio had told her that one could poke a hole in a man, and the blood would come pouring out, just so, like small streams of water. If one poked enough holes into one's enemy, they would bleed out and die, like a waterfall slowly flushing itself dry and turning into a still puddle.

...

Syrio had taught her much and more, but there was always more to learn.

How to stand balancing on one toe had been hard at first, but now she could do it for minutes on end. The goal was to be able to do it for a solid hour. Syrio claimed he could still do it, but he had not yet shown her. There was no time for it, he had said. She needed to practice instead of looking at him.

Now they were practicing more fighting stances. A true Braavosi water dancer could hop forward in a tenth of a heartbeat, pierce the skin of his opponent and then hop back again before the enemy had even noticed.

"Are you still sad?" She asked her friend.

Haelda had been even quieter than usual since the horrors of the red banquet, since Wynafryd had died of the red wine poison.

"I don't know", Haelda replied. "Yes."

Arya sat down next to her, and gave her an inkling towards a consolatory hug, as best she could.

Grand Maester Pycelle had taught them that word. Consolatory. "There had been consolatory words in the final moments of the twin knights, Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk, as brother and brother died, sword in eachothers' hearts." That was from the Dance of the Dragons.

Haelda allowed herself to be held for a long time. Arya almost felt her arm become stiff, but she weathered through it. She knew that her friend needed the hug, and she would not get it from Septa Mordane. She was as useless as a stone gargoyle dresssed in silk when it came to hugging, Arya thought spitefully to herself.

When their spirits lifted, they painted and played for a while. After that, the servants brought them some oranges, figs and cheese for a simple meal, but they only wanted one, which they shared, breaking away the clyfts together like sisters.

After that they went outside for a short walk to cure themselves of their boredom.

They saw Joffrey out in the courtyard, as the pigeons flew overhead, but Arya pretended not to see him. Before, she would have thought about throwing something at him, perhaps a small pebble or an onion from the kitchens, but not anymore. She had made a promise to Father, and she would keep it.

Besides, not even Sansa seemed to liked the upjumped blonde-haired boy anymore. She was back to her infatuation with Ser Loras, both from near and afar. The Knight of Flowers was haughty as well, but he was at least better than Joffrey.

She had been mad at him for a long time, for hitting Mycah. But she had realized that Mycah was trouble as well when he wanted her to come with to the kitchens to steal away with wine and then shoot pigeons with his sling-shot, so that he could bake the poor birds into his father's meat pies. He was just as bad as Joffrey, only in another way. Arya would never have killed a pigeon, only ever catch one to hold it, to look at it. Birds had to die, if people wanted to eat, yes... But she could not imagine killing them herself. Not until she was grown, at least. Perhaps then she would learn to hunt for true, like Robb did. She was still only a child.

...

The thoughts of Mycah would not leaver her, however, as she and Haelda walked along the castle gardens accompanied by Ser Merlon.

She said goodbye to Haelda for the moment and went down to the kitchens to speak to him.

She found him soon enough, by the side of his father, tending to roasting the meats as usual while Murgon the butcher was chopping up lamb and pig alike with a wan, large meaty hand. She had never shook her father's hand, since he was always indisposed in his slobbering work, and since she was the royal princess, as she knew better than most people thought she did.

No, she had never taken Mycah's father's hand, and now she doubted she ever would, but from just looking at it, she imagined it to be thick and greasy, just like grabbing hold of a meatloaf. Her former friend saw her coming, as he stepped slightly away from the spit-roast and bowed down.

"Princess", Mycah said, courteously yet coldly, the enmity clear in his eyes.

"You did it, didn't you? You led her right to it! She was Sansa's friend!"

"What are you talking about?" He whispered back angrily, trying to make certain that noone heard.

As it so happened, they all probably did, but most of the servants had seen her, Princess Arya, King Eddard's roudy young daughter, roaming about the castle's all nooks and crannies down here a hundred times before. They had seen her playing with Mycah dozens of times. They wouldn't care.

They pretended to not see or hear, but if Father or any of the guards came down to ask them later on, they would betray her secret of having been down here and spoken to Mycah in an instant, she knew.

Father would be mad at her, just as he had been on the Kingsroad, and Jory would as well. Even Jory would be staunchly disappointed in her. But she could not have chosen to not go down here one final time before becoming a true princess. She simply had to know if Mycah had been part of it, and if he had, then maybe she would try and forgive Joffrey for having tried to kill him in turn. In the old texts of the Seven, or so Septa Mordane or Pycelle had said, death was paid for by death. An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, that was – or at least had been – the Father's judgement, before the teachings of Baelor the Blessed to turn the other cheek around.

Mycah had certainly turned his freckled, round cheek on to Joffrey's sword, but the stupid, evil Joffrey had hurt him all the same. She had hated the cruel Lannister bastard for it, wanted him dead.

But now, it seemed to her, that Mycah had hurt someone that Sansa cared for. Though was it knowingly or unknowingly? Had he become evil as well, because of Joffrey? Did the evil perhaps spread, just like a disease, from the hearts of western baseborn lords to King's Landing commonborn kitchen and butcher boys? She had to find out.

"You let Wynafryda in here, into the kitchens, and gave her of the poisoned wine!"

"I didn't! I swear I didn't! I swear it in the name of the Seven!"

"Don't swear on the gods", she said. "You are just like Joffrey. He hurt you, because you were a commonborn playing to be a knight, and now you try and hurt Wynafryda for coming into your place! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"I did not kill her!" He almost shouted out, as the servants around began to watch them ever more curiously, though still they dared not raise their voices, in fear of the icy wrath of the king.

They would betray her. They would tell the story to the guards soon enough, for fear of whipping, and then she would get another punishment again, and be confined to her room for three dive – or maybe five or six this time around – and all for stupid Mycah not being able to keep silent when she spoke to him.

Even Murgon turned to look at his son and the young princess, giving his son a quick slap on his head to tell him to keep quiet in front of the other servants, but then fell null in his look again and turned sourly back to his meats and cleaver, doing his best to not get involved further than that.

He knew that his son had gone far out of line, Arya supposed. He had known already before they'd come halfway back from Winterfell the last time around, at the Trident. She felt truly sorry for Murgon. He couldn't help that his son was bad. She almost felt ashamed herself for dragging it on.

"But she talked about you, before she died!" Arya said, in spite of everything. "She talked about you three or four days before, and said that you had promised to show her the wine cellars.

"I only said that so that she would give me a kiss. But then she laughed at me, so I didn't do it", Mycah said sourly. "Prettyn did, though, even though he's so young. And now he's dead. Turns out kissing highborn girls kills people like us. So I'm sorry for having played with you at all, princess."

"I-... You...- You think I wanted to kiss you?" Arya said, incredulously.

"No, I think you wanted us both to get into trouble. And we sure did, didn't we? Lord Joffrey will hate me until my dying days, if I ever get to take over after my father. And if he some day marries Princess Sansa...-"

"He won't", she promised. "Sansa hates him now."

"That doesn't matter. His Father is Lord Tywin Lannister, the Old Lion of the West. The red terror."

"And my father is the King!" Arya shouted out, so that the whole kitchens could hear her.

She had no shame in her body now, not any more. She was too angry for all of that. "You don't have to worry or care about stupid Joffrey. He is just a bastard from Casterly Rock! I am the princess. My father is the king. It is me and Sansa that you should care about. And Robb. And Bran and Rickon."

"I tried caring about you", he said. "You wanted to play swords. That's how we got into trouble."

"I am not the one who got us into trouble!", she said, almost shaking from her anger as she pointed her finger at him. "I will admit that I usually am, but not this time. Joffrey tried to kill you, because he is a stupid golden Lannister shit! And then Wynafryda wanted some wine because she is a lecherous drunken maiden, but she's never punished for it. And then you tried to kiss Wynafryda! And then she died from drinking the wine! And all of the others did as well!"

"It was not me", he said again, staunchly defending himself. "It was Prettyn, and Prettyn's dead!"

"...Princess", he finished, turning back to his father and the meat roasting pail and the spit-roast.

"Whatever", she said. "You're stupid. And bad, just like Joffrey. I'm never playing with you again."

He did not give a reply to that, instead keeping on tending to the meats on the spit-fire.

If he had, she was sure that he would have said that he didn't want to play with he either, and then he would have called her something heinous, the way Steffon always did, the way that all stupid boys always did, but he could not.

But He would never be able to say another bad word about her, once she had left the room, she realized. He would most like never speak to her again at all, once she had left the kitchens now, for this, the final time.

For she was the princess of the Red Keep, daugher to the Wolf King, Eddard Stark, First of His Name, and he was just a stupid butcher's boy who wanted to be a knight so he could kill people."

...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: These will most likely be the last few chapters of the first part of the story. I will most likely continue the story in another story, a sequel so to speak, both because of practical reasons (the many chapters do add up and make it hard to scroll and keep track of them all, and I myself personally prefer to not have over ca 80 - 100 chapters in the same story, as it just feels excessive.) and also to signify the framing of the story encompassing ca 298 A.C. and the equivalent of "A GAME OF THRONES". Therefore, I will most likely publish the new story, the sequel, very soon, which will have most of the same character and POVs continue their stories, as well as some new POVs, just like in GRRM's A CLASH OF KINGS.

I have asked what you guys feel about this before and I got some few responses, so thanks to those who answered, but we will see if I continue to update here in this same "document" story, or in a new story called "The Reign of the Wolves: A Clash of Kings" / "A Brawl of Brothers", which will be the sequel.)

Thankyou so much for your support, and please make sure to search for and follow the new story / part of the story, which is book 2 in the order to keep on track with the new chapters! :)

/ Adam Targaryen