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“So the dragons are locked up and people are upset? I don’t understand.”
"He had no right to lock them or take Daenerys place." Though that alone was enough for her to be outraged, there were more political concerns from other people. "Now he has powerful weapons, and it's clear he isn't afraid of taking thrones and turning on allies. It is more than the dragons being locked."
Robb was still in shock at the downfall of such a merciful ruler. Daenerys’s de-throning as the Queen of Dragons was devastating to someone like Robb, a Man who held honour above all else. Throughout the day, he sat upon his throne in the North, listening to the requests and demands of both his subjects and subjects of the Vale that had travelled to the North in fear of Daenerys’s terrifying Dragons. As if that wasn’t tiring enough, he had a long evening of letter-writing to do as well.
Robb sighed as another person walked up to him, standing in front of him. He looked them in the eyes. With his Squire, Rinoa to his left and his most trusted advisor, Lucas, to his right, Robb nodded as the one before him bowed to their King.
“What is it you request of me. I assume it’s a request, anyway…”
Arya had liked Daenerys when they met; both when she visited the Vale and when the queen came to the tourney in Winterfell. Daenerys, being a queen in her own right, fighting for her family’s rights and never depending on any man to achieve her goals or to be a powerful ruler, had caught her attention from the beginning. Knowing the woman in person didn’t change her good opinion of the Targaryen queen.
Hearing of Harrold Hardying’s actions angered her greatly. She did not take treason lightly, as none of the Starks did, truthfully. It made her even more angry, however, that the one queen who was no consort but indeed held the power was also the one to suffer with a plot to take it from her. Worse rulers had been kings for a lifetime, yet this queen, who wasn’t even openly disliked, wasn’t good enough.
Arya quietly walked towards her brother and his men, standing beside Lucas and trying not to attract attention to herself, watching as her brother, in his king demeanour, attended to yet another request. It was only when the matter was solved and the other had left, that she spoke to Robb. “I’ve heard of what happened in the Vale… and that you’ve spoken to the traitor. He is untrustworthy, he stole from Daenerys and exiled her after. He doesn’t deserve to live, let alone be wed to our sister. Please tell me you’re not considering it still, Robb.” The words were unfiltered; Arya didn’t even mind Rinoa and Lucas would listen or not. She was against Hardying, and she’d make it known.
Robb looked down at the floor, sighing as he pushed out his bottom jaw in frustration. He had to admit, he, himself, refused to trust Hardyng, especially after the current situation in the Vale, and he was afraid of him mistreating Sansa, should Littlefinger be using Hardyng as a puppet. He did not turn to Arya, but glanced at Lucas out of the corner of his eye, then sighed and replied to Arya’s outburst of hatred.
“I’m not going to execute Hardyng, Arya…” Robb said, dwelling on Arya’s words ‘He doesn’t deserve to live’. “We have enough on our hands dealing with the Greyjoys. I don’t want to stir up a war in the North, nor do I want to march against the Vale. Hardyng is a traitor, that much is certain. But I do not have the time nor the resources to march on the Eyrie…”
"I do not expect you to." That he didn't deserve to live was one thing; that her brother should take his life was another. She knew there wasn't much they could do, as much as she wished to be able to do something to help Daenerys. "I simply do not expect you to continue to threat with him as if nothing had happened either. He made his interest in our sister quite clear by crowning her Queen of Love and Beauty. That alone would make it impossible to ignore the matter."
Either he would accept Hardying's actions and maintain things as they had been, or he would not, and the Vale would no longer be their ally. "You're supporting his betrayal?" The lack of positioning last her to ask, words far from soft; Arya was still very much rilled up over the matter. "He took Daenerys's throne and her dragons. Her dragons, Robb. I do not need to ask how would you feel; you know betrayal well enough. If it was you and they had taken Grey Wind and turned him against you, though... Well, I haven't seen Nymeria in years and I know how awful it would be either way."
Robb was still in shock at the downfall of such a merciful ruler. Daenerys’s de-throning as the Queen of Dragons was devastating to someone like Robb, a Man who held honour above all else. Throughout the day, he sat upon his throne in the North, listening to the requests and demands of both his subjects and subjects of the Vale that had travelled to the North in fear of Daenerys’s terrifying Dragons. As if that wasn’t tiring enough, he had a long evening of letter-writing to do as well.
Robb sighed as another person walked up to him, standing in front of him. He looked them in the eyes. With his Squire, Rinoa to his left and his most trusted advisor, Lucas, to his right, Robb nodded as the one before him bowed to their King.
“What is it you request of me. I assume it’s a request, anyway…”
Arya had liked Daenerys when they met; both when she visited the Vale and when the queen came to the tourney in Winterfell. Daenerys, being a queen in her own right, fighting for her family's rights and never depending on any man to achieve her goals or to be a powerful ruler, had caught her attention from the beginning. Knowing the woman in person didn't change her good opinion of the Targaryen queen.
Hearing of Harrold Hardying's actions angered her greatly. She did not take treason lightly, as none of the Starks did, truthfully. It made her even more angry, however, that the one queen who was no consort but indeed held the power was also the one to suffer with a plot to take it from her. Worse rulers had been kings for a lifetime, yet this queen, who wasn't even openly disliked, wasn't good enough.
Arya quietly walked towards her brother and his men, standing beside Lucas and trying not to attract attention to herself, watching as her brother, in his king demeanour, attended to yet another request. It was only when the matter was solved and the other had left, that she spoke to Robb. "I've heard of what happened in the Vale... and that you've spoken to the traitor. He is untrustworthy, he stole from Daenerys and exiled her after. He doesn't deserve to live, let alone be wed to our sister. Please tell me you're not considering it still, Robb." The words were unfiltered; Arya didn't even mind Rinoa and Lucas would listen or not. She was against Hardying, and she'd make it known.
“My mistake, lord Wyllas.” And that made the first one. At least it hadn’t been much; Arya was indeed trying rather hard to speak the right words and behave as properly as she had to. Unlike her, he didn’t appear to have any trouble with the formalities, but then again, most highborn lords and ladies didn’t. She was an exception, and that was what made it so difficult, wasn’t it? There was uncertainty in what to make of Wyllas Tyrell, still. She’d try to see how much of him was true and how much wasn’t, of course. Arya and Sansa was as different as they could be, and the fights were still more common than she’d wish they were; nonetheless, Sansa was her sister, and anyone who wished to marry her would be judged with thorough intent by the younger Stark sister (and if this failed, and he or whoever else married Sansa ever hurt her, well, Arya might as well hurt them double).
“That’s perfectly understandable. Winterfell is quite a long journey from here.” She did not speak of how he was missed, or how she wished he’d be able to visit Winterfell some day; that would be insincere, and though most polite exchanges between nobles were just so, Arya tried to keep her honesty the best she could. “It is lovely to meet you as well, my lord, as it is to visit Highgarden. I have only heard the best about house Tyrell and your land.” Which, again, was not quite a lie; Sansa had only good words about them, and Robb wasn’t different. Not everyone agreed, but she did hold her siblings’s opinions in highest regard than those of others.
“Simply Willas is fine. Unless you’d prefer lord Willas, of course.” He gave her a friendly smile, attempting to put her more at ease. Oddly enough, he had heard plenty a rumor about the younger Stark daughter, and not one of those rumors had said that she was like…this. She was oddly uncertain, yet had all the courtesies of a lady. He could only assume that she was trying to act more the part of the Princess she now was.
“Winterfell seems quite a long journey from most places. Though, my sister tells me it was beautiful. In a different way from Highgarden, but beautiful nonetheless.” He returned her courtesies easily, and with nothing but the truth. Margaery had liked Winterfell, though she had complained about the cold. “I imagine you’ll be able to judge Highgarden’s beauty for yourself soon Princess. Once my sister hears that you have arrived, she’ll undoubtedly want to show you and Sansa everything she can. And if there’s anything you’d like to see, have no qualms about asking me to show you.” There were plenty of different gardens, the Three Singers, the Mander, any number of thing that might interest the Princess. Though, Willas didn’t know her well enough (or at all, for that matter) to be able to judge what would interest her and what wouldn’t.
"Willas it is. Though, please, call me Arya, then." Not having to refer to him as lord, but specially not being called princess, seemed like the better option. She returned the smile politely; pretending to be a lady became easier the more she had to do so, even if it was no less torturous. "Or most places are quite a journey from Winterfell. It's a matter of point of view." Her home was the starting point for her; Arya understood it would be just the same for others, still. "It is my home. I have nothing but nice words to speak of Winterfell. Queen Margaery's words are kind, but I'll have to agree they are also true." The North was where she belonged, and nowhere felt as much as home as Winterfell did, not even Braavos. "My sister has spoken highly of Highgarden as well. I cannot wait to see everything." Sansa did like the place a lot; Arya didn't know if for the place itself or because she was so fond of the Tyrells, still. Their opinions tended to diverge, however. Arya would have to see it to know if this would be the case or not.
🌹 ▌ ARYA
“I fail to see why is it so wrong that I have my blade with me. All of the men have theirs. Are princess not allowed to defend themselves if they can?” Lighthearted words hid her intent to argue over it; it angered Arya deeply that people would say she should not because she was a woman; she did not mind if they meant it and she should simply let go of the matter and leave Needle elsewhere, she wouldn’t do it.
Loras heard the interaction and approached the two. ❝It seems that, as evidenced by your ignorance… a woman is, perhaps, more entitled to carrying a weapon to ward off idiocy.❞ Loras looked between the two. ❝My apologies, Princes Arya. I am certain you did not need my assistance. I simply find it difficult to control myself when I hear things that are so incredibly lacking in intelligence.❞ Loras glanced back to the man, giving him a quick nod accompanied by a cheeky smile.
The knight of flowers was part of distant memories only; she had seen him joust long ago, and heard the stories about the great Ser Loras Tyrell, but no more than that. Ultimately, Arya didn't truly have any opinion about him, so when he approached, she wasn't sure what to expect.
She did not like other people's interferences, usually -- Arya did not appreciate being rescued. This time though, it wasn't all bad. Having to argue while still maitaining the dialogue polite wasn't her expertise. There was a small smirk she couldn't truly contain at Loras's words to the other. Even if insulted and clearly angry at the words, the man didn't manage to fight; he couldn't find a way to answer likely, it seemed. " 'Tis quite alright ser Loras. Some things are so very desprovided of sense one cannot help but wonder how can someone think in such way. Stupidity can be difficult to ignore."
Arya watched as the man finally left, rather relieved. When he did, she turned to ser Loras again. "I must thank you, ser. He was making me want to use the blade instead of to keep it away."
Dorne was so very different entirely; different from her home, yes, but different from the other southerner lands as well. Arya had known many tales of it when she was a child; she had always liked very much any stories where the ladies were not damsels in distress, or perfect little girls that did nothing but fall in love and expect their perfect knights to save them. While Sansa liked love songs and wished to be like Jonquil, Arya had much preferred Visenya Targaryen or Queen Nymeria; the name even chosen for her direwolf, the friend she missed so dearly even now.
Her interest was what brought her here; Dorne was much too far, and none of her siblings had befriended the Martells; Robb and Sansa had the friendship of Renly and the Tyrells, and Rickon had history with Stannis and his people; Daenerys and Harold Hardying provides connections to the Vale, too. But none to the Martells, so Arya might as well try to visit and get to know both the land full of tales she was so fascinated by and the rulers, whom she may try to befriend.
Dorne had not failed one bit in proving itself unique. It was very much warm, and the sand made the landscape very different from Braavos and Winterfell both. She had arrived earlier in that day, and now, by night, Arya had had some difficulty trying to sleep, what lead her to wander, and eventually to find Arianne Martell. “I’d hope I can be as interesting to you as you appear to me, princess. Dorne is very different from anywhere I’ve lived in, and I found the people to be just as interesting as the place, in my brief time here.”
Arianne was nothing short of fascinated by the girl who now got all of her attention. Smile peaked on her lips as the other spoke, speaking ever so kindly of Dorne. All her life, burning sun and hot sand with quick storms an salt in the air, was all she knew. Somedays, she’d leave at home the shoes and settle for a walk, her feet failing to even notice the fire which burnt on the ground underneath. Dorne was in her blood, heat kept her going and at this point the mere thought of leaving it for something cold, something else, was somewhat unsettling.
From Braavos, to Summer Isles, she’s seen it all, but there really was no place like home. And she was fortunate enough to be next in line of succession. This made her curious. “And where is it you’ve lived in, if you don’t mind my asking? For Dorne is truly quite different than any place else, I’m always rather entertained by hearing stories of places far away…so please, I’m all ears.”
The question didn't bother Arya at all. She had been expecting it the entire time now, though for different reasons than why Arianne asked -- everyone was interested in knowing where the newly returned princess of Winterfell had been before. "Well, Winterfell, of course, that is so absolutely different. As far as the climate goes, I suppose it could be said it is the opposite of here; we even have summer snow there at times." It was always cold in the North, though it didn't bother those who always had lived there; Dorne's warmth was more likely to bother the northerners than any cold ever would, truthfully. In what regarded culture, they differed as well, though somewhat not as much as the rest of the realm. In a way, the North and Dorne were similar; both had been more influenced by other people than the Andals. Dorne had a strong tie to the roynar, and the North to the First Men.
"King's Landing also, for a little while long ago." There were good things, but overall, Arya never quite liked it there. The city itself was bad, yet it was the people that made it awful. She wasn't sure of how it was now. Her visits had been brief and much may have changed. "But mostly Braavos. I've lived until recently, though it should be said Braavos differs from Westeros entirely, not only Dorne." She wondered if the princess had traveled widely; most nobles did not, heirs especially. It must be nice, to be able to live in the comfort of your home your entire life; still, Arya was quite sure had it been like that to her, she'd wish to leave and know other places. As her lady mother used to like to say, forbidding her only served to make the prohibited become her heart's desire. "Have you ever lived elsewhere, princess Arianne?"
“I fail to see why is it so wrong that I have my blade with me. All of the men have theirs. Are princess not allowed to defend themselves if they can?” Lighthearted words hid her intent to argue over it; it angered Arya deeply that people would say she should not because she was a woman; she did not mind if they meant it and she should simply let go of the matter and leave Needle elsewhere, she wouldn’t do it.
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“No, you don’t want to hear about it. It’s hardly a happy story, and it’s filled with things you’ll hate to hear about.” If it was the other way around, Arya would want to know, too. She understood Sansa’s feelings for once, it simply wasn’t that easy. The younger Stark sighed. Her sister appeared to be settled on it; she wished to know, so perhaps Arya could tell her a little. It didn’t have to be everything. “Syrio protected me, in King’s Landing. That’s why I could run. Then I lived in the streets for a while. I was there too, when… when they killed father.” She had been shielded of seeing it, but it didn’t matter. Arya had heard the beheading, heard the people, heard Sansa screaming. The nightmares presented very creative images to fill the place of what she hadn’t seen. “There were so many people, and I couldn’t get closer– not that it would have made a difference, but not trying to do anything… I just had to try something.“
“And more equally horrible things happened after that, and I, well, I did awful things too. Don’t ask me to tell about it. As it is, I’m already far from the sister you wished to have. If I told you everything, you’d hate me, Sansa.”
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“Vengeance against the man who killed her is simply reward for my patience.”
“You see, it’s the slow knife, that takes its time, the knife that waits years without forgetting, that slips quietly in between the bones and cuts deepest.”
“That’s a shame. Friendship is certainly valuable.” Rickon responded sadly. “I understand- it must have been much safer, to pretend you were someone else. It must have been strange though- in the end you spent less time as Arya than your other personalities.”
He considered for a moment how unusual that was- she must have felt, at some points, that she was no longer Arya Stark, especially as it had happened when she was so young.
He was glad he had been returned to his home and family before the same could happen to him.
Rickon nodded. “I’d like to see Braavos too- it sounds an extraordinary place. Perhaps we could visit together sometime.” He wondered what the city was like, what made it so different.
Rickon pondered for a moment. “Sansa told me a little, not much though. I have had similar experiences- I made friends with cannibals on Skagos after all, and thankfully they didn’t eat me.”
He shook his head. “It is always the case that with smallfolk there are fewer expectations as to how one must behave than with highborn people.”
Rickon nodded and smiled with satisfaction at Arya’s words about the Lannisters. “You’re right.”
He shook his head again then, however, angrily. “It’s horrific, how people can have so little compassion for their fellow humans… it seems to be a trait of Lannisters though. Not all Lannisters, I suppose, I wouldn’t assume that they’re all evil, but…”
He hesitated a moment. “When winter comes, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives- is it not right that father used to say something along those lines?” He had heard Bran utter those words before, or something similar.
Rickon wondered how true it was. He and Shaggy were loners, outsiders, and had survived for a long time that way… although he was very pleased, truthfully, that all his remaining family were together, in any case.
“I swear it too, by our father’s Gods and our mother’s. Tywin, Jaime, Cersei. It is fortunate not for them, but for us, that we are skilled killers…”
Rickon wondered instantly why exactly he had said that. He had no proof that Arya was a killer and he had never killed himself, though he did not doubt he could if needs be.
Hesitantly, unsure exactly how to phrase this, Rickon said, “I did not mean to imply anything bad… I know I shouldn’t jump to conclusions…”
If only he knew just how much time she had spent trying not to be Arya, trying to become no one. She never could, not truly; no one felt more like another part she had to play, not more real than Beth or Car or Mercy. Perhaps that was why she so easily continued to play a part here; princess Arya was no more than that, truthfully.
"I had to pretend at first, or I wouldn't have lived. Cersei would have found me otherwise." By accident, she almost did. The queen's men hadn't been after her; they looked for king Robert's bastards. Still, she had new fleeing with one of them, and that almost got her caught. "But what you say isn't completely right. I had to pretend to be someone else most of time, yes, but I never stopped being Arya. I always knew who I was." Even when she shouldn't. Even when she was supposed to become a faceless servant of the Many-Faced God.
Arya smiled a little at his suggestion. It was a place that certainly would hold many memories to her, but she'd like it if her siblings could visit it as well. "Braavos is quite interesting. It has all kind of people, and there's a part of the city dedicated to temples of all the gods. At night the water dancers would duel near the Sealord's palace. The city was founded by freed slaves of Valyria, so people have many different origins there." Over the years, she had grown fond of the place; it had, after all, become her home. She lived there longer than in Westeros; and if not for her family, she wouldn't have returned, even if at times she had missed the snow and the stone walls of Winterfell. "I'd quite like it if you went with me there."
"Lucky indeed. Didn't they try to make you one of them?" Cannibals were something she had only heard of. Arya wondered if her siblings had feared Rickon would have become one when he returned; it seemed like the kind of idea that would cross Sansa's mind. "You've told me little about when you lived elsewhere, you know. How was it like, to live in Skagos?" She hoped he didn't mind the question; they had gotten along well and spoke freely to each other, though, and Arya felt the liberty of asking.
"Which is another reason to like the smallfolk better: no hiding behind futile courtesies." She hoped Sansa would never hear she was saying such things, but it was how she saw it.
"I wouldn't know of other Lannisters. Tywin, his children, and Joffrey, though, I know they are all cruel like that." She didn't have a clue of how Myrcella and Tommen were now, though as children they had been far from cruel, what was already better than Joffrey. Still, much had happened that may have change that.
She recognized the words well; all memories of her father were deeply treasured by Arya. "He used to remind me of that when Sansa and I were fighting... we fought a lot. And I doubted his words. When I thought all of you had died, and I was alone in Braavos, I thought father had been wrong; I was a lone wolf and I survived while my pack didn't." For so long she had thought that way. She didn't anymore. She had survived alone, yes; but if they had been all together, maybe none would have died. "We are strong on our own, each and all of us. But that just means that together we're even stronger; together we can survive winter and anything else that might come."
His awkward apologies made her relax a bit; she had thought he knew, and even if there'd be some relief in Rickon knowing and nothing changing, not being the one to tell him made her uneasy and anxious.
Arya supposed it was an opportunity though; she could at least test the waters, see if she could tell him everything. So far, Jon would still be the only one she wouldn't hesitate in telling everything to. Arya shook her head slightly. "It's alright, I suppose."
Her hesitation made her words somewhat quieter. "You're not wrong... about my skill, I mean. I mean it when I speak of killing them, and I only promise because I know I could."
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Ah, so this was Arya Stark. Well, the rumors were certainly true about her appearance. She was beautiful, in a wild Northern sort of way, yet looked so very little like her older sister, who had a much more Tully sort of look. And with her, another Stark had arrived at the Reach. Willas was certain that the entire Stark family had come to visit now. He and Margaery would certainly have their hands full, entertaining them all. Still, he was up for the challenge.
“I’m not Lord Tyrell yet,” Not truly, “…so please, call me Willas.” He could tell that she wasn’t comfortable with all the formalities that came with being highborn, and he couldn’t blame her. He had learned them all, but they tired him out on occasion as well. “You must forgive me as well, your Grace. I wasn’t able to make it down to Winterfell for the tourney celebrating your return.” he made a slight gesture to his knee, “Therefore, it’s an honor to meet you.”
“My mistake, lord Wyllas.” And that made the first one. At least it hadn’t been much; Arya was indeed trying rather hard to speak the right words and behave as properly as she had to. Unlike her, he didn’t appear to have any trouble with the formalities, but then again, most highborn lords and ladies didn’t. She was an exception, and that was what made it so difficult, wasn’t it? There was uncertainty in what to make of Wyllas Tyrell, still. She’d try to see how much of him was true and how much wasn’t, of course. Arya and Sansa was as different as they could be, and the fights were still more common than she’d wish they were; nonetheless, Sansa was her sister, and anyone who wished to marry her would be judged with thorough intent by the younger Stark sister (and if this failed, and he or whoever else married Sansa ever hurt her, well, Arya might as well hurt them double).
“That’s perfectly understandable. Winterfell is quite a long journey from here.” She did not speak of how he was missed, or how she wished he’d be able to visit Winterfell some day; that would be insincere, and though most polite exchanges between nobles were just so, Arya tried to keep her honesty the best she could. “It is lovely to meet you as well, my lord, as it is to visit Highgarden. I have only heard the best about house Tyrell and your land.” Which, again, was not quite a lie; Sansa had only good words about them, and Robb wasn’t different. Not everyone agreed, but she did hold her siblings’s opinions in highest regard than those of others.
“I’ve always found it particularly admirable that so many flowers and fruits were planted in and around the Red Keep that are so much better suited for the Reach. You see here? These roses are not particularly unappealing, but they feel as if they might just wilt and fall apart with the gentlest touch. They should be stronger,” she lamented with a hum, “would be, I think, if raised in the right climate.”
It was Bran she had been there for, at first. Not for matters of the realm, but to be with her younger brother and to seek his help, once she had learned of his dreams; she had wolf dreams as well, and Arya wished to learn more (eventually, not only about the dreams, but about the warging as well, as she now knew how to name it). Spending time with Queen Margaery was expected of her; and so she did, not very comfortable with it.
Margaery was Sansa's friend and a queen, and if that alone wasn't enough, Arya had spoken to her before, briefly, pretending to be a servant, much before she reached her siblings again. The queen had yet to speak of it, if she would; Margaery had been nothing but pleasant, though Arya doubted she was foolish enough not to notice anything. "I do not know much of flowers and fruits, to be honest. In the North, there isn’t a great variety that survives outside the greenhouses, and Braavos wasn't kind to plants either. I heard the Reach is lovely, still. Don't you like to have familiar things here, though? Like the roses -- don't you appreciate to have something that was also present in your home?"
Arianne was of playful nature. Many said she resembled more her uncle, The Red Viper, than she did her own father. Perhaps they were right, perhaps she was the only one who could not see it. Not as clearly anyway. Arianne did not consider herself half as patient as Oberyn was, nor had she any intention to let his death pass unpunished for as long as Elias had been. Still, she had more important matters to tend to, such as preserving her birthright – seeing her cousins were already making sure the justice for Oberyn was served, her own actions would not contribute much. What would, however, is if she was the one in charge, and her voice was heard.
That is why, she had come up with a plan. One that would assure her getting her rightful place. And despite her father and Ellaria’s disagreement, she was determined. — Lost in thought, it took her a second to notice someone’s quiet step approaching from the outside. Stepping out on the balcony, her white gown following behind, hanging on a thread, she chuckled softly. It was the kind of chuckle that people recognized, sweet and intriguing, making one wonder where her thoughts were wondering about.
“What an odd hour you chose to honour us with your presence, lovely. I’m afraid everyone has already gone to rest, many dull things to tend to on the morrow, or so I’ve heard.” she smiled, her eyes narrowing as she approached the edge of the balcony, resting upon it. “I do hope my company can suffice. But, you see, my company is not easily obtained. One most be at very least mildly interesting for me to endure so – you willing to try?”
Dorne was so very different entirely; different from her home, yes, but different from the other southerner lands as well. Arya had known many tales of it when she was a child; she had always liked very much any stories where the ladies were not damsels in distress, or perfect little girls that did nothing but fall in love and expect their perfect knights to save them. While Sansa liked love songs and wished to be like Jonquil, Arya had much preferred Visenya Targaryen or Queen Nymeria; the name even chosen for her direwolf, the friend she missed so dearly even now.
Her interest was what brought her here; Dorne was much too far, and none of her siblings had befriended the Martells; Robb and Sansa had the friendship of Renly and the Tyrells, and Rickon had history with Stannis and his people; Daenerys and Harold Hardying provides connections to the Vale, too. But none to the Martells, so Arya might as well try to visit and get to know both the land full of tales she was so fascinated by and the rulers, whom she may try to befriend.
Dorne had not failed one bit in proving itself unique. It was very much warm, and the sand made the landscape very different from Braavos and Winterfell both. She had arrived earlier in that day, and now, by night, Arya had had some difficulty trying to sleep, what lead her to wander, and eventually to find Arianne Martell. "I'd hope I can be as interesting to you as you appear to me, princess. Dorne is very different from anywhere I've lived in, and I found the people to be just as interesting as the place, in my brief time here."
WILLAS: OPEN STARTER
Willas was in the library when news of Highgarden’s guest came. Only slightly irritated that he hadn’t been informed sooner, he shut his book and put it aside. Grabbing his cane, he pushed himself to his feet and quickly (as quickly as his limp made possible) made his way to the main hall.
“Hello there. I didn’t hear anything of your arrival.” Didn’t even hear any news of his guest heading towards Highgarden at all, in fact, “I apologize for not being here to greet you.” In truth, his guest was lucky he was in Highgarden at all. He spent a good majority of his time with King Renly these days and Renly was always traveling between the Reach and the Rock. He was only back in Highgarden for a few weeks before returning to Casterly Rock with Renly. Focusing on his guest again, he gave a polite smile, “Make no mistake, however, I do welcome you to Highgarden.”
Arya didn't truly want to go. Sansa was very fond of the Tyrells, and visiting Highgarden meant she'd have to be specially mindful of her ways due to that (both not to make her sister embarrassed and because the standards had been set high, once they met her lovely sister first). But, much like her mother once thought, her siblings seemed to think some time among the southron people might help her learn her courtesies better. They should have given up by now. She would never have the ways of a princess, and it didn't matter if she was in Essos, or in the North, or in King's Landing, or even in Highgarden.
"I believe it wasn't planned much earlier, my lord. Though I am sure my brother tried to contact you about it." Ravens were easy targets, however. The message being lost wasn't a far fetched notion. "Forgive me if it is inconvenient, still. Robb believed it would be a good opportunity for me to be with Sansa and to visit another realm, specially since both him and my sister are so fond of queen Margaery and King Renly." And that this was one of Sansa's suitors, and that Highgarden might be her future home. Arya hoped her words were polite enough; she wasn't ever really sure of it. “I thank you for your welcome still, lord Tyrell.”
“I know.” Rickon sighed, leaving the matter of how he felt about being alone at that.
He turned to her, still more curious. “I’m glad you enjoyed their company once you befriended them. There are many assumptions made when it comes to that type of people; are any were true. Do you think you’ll see them again?”
He hoped Arya would not go sailing off back to Braavos any time soon, before he had got to know her properly, but he could, of course, understand why she might miss a place, and people, which had been so influential in her growing up.
After all, he had visited Skagos, though not often- once at the age of 10, and once at 14, as well as seeing Osha.
He found it rather heart-wrenching that Arya had missed them so. It was a shame they had not been reunited sooner- he had not considered much before how lucky he was that, even though he had been separated from his family, he had been reunited with them so quickly after the war.
Arya had not had that privilege. It must be strange for her, he thought. She had spent more time with, and remembered more of, others than her family.
He knew that he and his siblings were not strangers to her the way his family had been to him when he first met them again, but she still did not know them as well as she ought- they had all grown up such a terrible lot.
“You think being a noble restricts your opportunities to make friends then?” He had never considered this before, but perhaps it was true that he would have more friends if he was a commoner- he wouldn’t be expected to be princely, and gracious and polite, the children he was expected to play with would be dirty and boisterous and wild, just like him.
Perhaps it was in his nature to be a bit of an outsider though, and perhaps with Shaggy friends could not be made so easily.
Not that he minded. He would far rather be a Stark, and have Shaggy, than have friends. More friends were never something he had particularly desired.
And he was proud to be a Stark, and loved the history of his family and Winterfell so much, that he wasn’t unhappy to be a Stark, even though such tragedy had, naturally, fallen on his family.
He felt rather comforted in many ways that Arya cried sometimes too. She may be a girl, but she was older and wiser than him, and in some ways stronger. “You’re right.” He nodded. “It isn’t shameful for either of us to cry.”
He suddenly realised what she had felt when she assured him that it was ok to feel- he wanted her to know the same thing. He could not carry on feeling guilt about crying now- to do so would be to scorn his sister.
“True.” Rickon replied in response to what she had said about their parents’ killers.
“I wish Tywin and Joffrey Lannister had never been born… and the next best thing is them being dead now. Robb got revenge on Joffrey of course but, Tywin is still alive. They did terrible things… to mother, father, me you, all of us…. When I think of how different my life would be if they were here…”
He shook his head. He was getting extremely angry and agitated now. “It’s so unfair! They didn’t deserve that. They didn’t do anything wrong. Do you think Tywin and Joffrey considered how awful what they were doing was, even for a moment?”
He was shaking now, with anger, grief and pain, and he felt Shaggydog’s nose nuzzling at his hand in comfort. It steadied him.
He turned to his sister suddenly, halting, ferocity in his eyes. “Let’s swear on it, Arya. Let’s make a pact to kill Tywin Lannister if we can. And Cersei and Jaime too… they weren’t directly responsible for our parents deaths, but they have hurt us. Jaime hurt Bran, he wanted to kill him. And Cersei hurt Sansa, and she could have stopped Joffrey having father killed… yes, let’s swear on it.” Rickon nodded, determined.
"I don't think so." The Cat of the canals and Mercedene both were gone -- and her friends didn't know Arya of House Stark. The kindly man did, and the waif too; but they wouldn't want to receive her as a friend after she left her training to return to her family. "They didn't know me as Arya. Few people knew me as Arya, after I escaped King's Landing."
Gendry had known, and left her because of it -- because her name made a difference, even if they had been friends when she was simply Arry. Yoren knew, and he died. Beric Dondarrion, the Hound, a few others. Most of them died or left.
“I’d like to visit Braavos though, eventually. It is so very different from here.” A rich city now, it had been built by former slaves, who had escaped from Valyrian lords. There you could find each and all kind of people, descending and coming from mostly everywhere; all gods were honored, and braavosi didn’t judge people for where they were from.
"Being a noble always restricted opportunities to make friends -- didn't Sansa ever told you how I'd always befriend the smallfolk? Kitchen girls, stable boys. A butcher's son, once." One that Joffrey had the Hound kill. "It was always easier to be me around those people."
Arya never fitted in with other noble children; she didn’t like the womanly arts the least bit, and she never behaved like she was supposed to. When people didn’t expect anything, you didn’t disappoint them. She could act as she wished, and lowborns wouldn’t truly care -- if they did, too, they’d just say it instead of making fun of her. It was simpler and freer, and Arya preferred it much more.
"No, it isn't." Crying would never be something she'd be completely comfortable with, but it wasn't necessarily bad. Even the most wolfblooded Starks were allowed to have such moments, and it wasn't something to be ashamed of.
She should have named Tywin when she could. Arya still regretted not saying the right name when she had the opportunity; he'd be dead, perhaps in time to frustrate his plans and allow her mother to have lived. "Both of them deserve to die; and Tywin will, too. Mother died because of him, and we will have him pay for it." Joffrey was a monster. Stupid and cruel, from the very beginning. She hadn't liked him from the start, her child self taken pleasure in watching Robb beat him when they sparred. Her adult self would have taken even more pleasure in seeing her eldest brother kill him. "I know Joffrey wouldn't. And if Tywin did, I don't think he cared, no matter how awful it was."
Arya felt similarly agitated, angry and lusting for Lannister blood. They had to pay for it, and it was she and her family who ought to take their lives; if it was anyone else it wouldn't be as satisfying. It was easy to make a promise she intended to fulfill; Jaime Lannister hadn't been on her list earlier because she hadn't know it was he who hurt Bran. Cersei and Joffrey were there from the moment her father died, though. "Each and all of them will have what they deserve for hurting us. We are a pack again, and they cannot fight us all together. They will have what they deserve." The words were solemn as well; Arya didn't take making promises lightly. "I swear it, by the Old Gods and the New. Tywin, Jaime, Cersei, we will hurt them as they have hurt our family. If we have the chance, we won't let them live."
Lilac eyes peered curiously as the younger girl spoke. Daenerys remained silent, offering the other her moment of speech before taking a breath, calculating her answer. “Such confidence.” She commented. “And…. courage.” There was, it seemed, something of herself that Dany saw in the girl. She was strong willed and proud, refusing to show fear to a Targaryen, a Targaryen Queen, A Targaryen Queen with dragons. Yet, all Dany offered was a small smile. “If half the soldiers in the seven kingdoms were as sharp as your tongue, wars would be a lot more fatal.” The Khaleesi paused, studying the Stark’s face once more. “I’m not Viserys. And I am not my father. I understand they called him the mad king. He did.. terrible things. One always wants more than they possess, Arya, lands and kingdoms are no exception to that. But… but in order for peace and sanctity to remain…” Daenerys’ words trailed off. “You are a lot like your brother. Are all you Starks so fearless with your words?”
“Then it’s a good thing they aren’t, I suppose.” Arya allowed a small smile to grace her lips -- others, like Stannis, wouldn’t take her words so lightly, even if there was no true offense meant. The Storm King may have been King Robert’s true heir, and the one her father would choose to support, but Arya never would. “I’ve heard the stories.” Many stories. Stories about how her father had burned Arya’s grandfather alive and made his son, her uncle Brandon, watch it and die, strangling himself in a desperate attempt to help. “If you’re not like them, then why reminisce in what your brother would have done? My father would have given the entire realm to Stannis Baratheon, after Robert’s death; and though my father is someone I admire greatly, I would never consider it.” No, she’d rather choose the Targaryen queen she barely knew, or perhaps Renly and Margaery (Sansa was so fond of her). “Forgive me if I speak more than I should.” She supposed it was the polite thing to say, once the queen pointed it out herself. “Like Robb?” She hadn’t heard that often; people would usually say it was Jon she was more alike. “Well, some say the harsh weather make us harsh. We do not mean disrespect, though.”
“My sister is the most ladylike and softspoken, I’m afraid. Though my brother Bran has a way with words as well.” Robb too, when he was Robb, the lord (likely Robb, the king now), an not Robb, her brother. Among all of them, it was her and Rickon who minded less their ways of speaking to whoever it was (the more wolfblooded children, too).
