A Furious Thing

Winterfell

Of course she did. Arya wasn't stupid. She'd hardly be pulling pranks on the Queen. But Arya doubted that was all he was asking of her. Out of sight, that's what he wanted- or rather, that was what Lady Stark wanted.

"Yes, father," she answered mildly. Arya had learned to keep quiet. It did no good to anger Lady Stark. She would never harm Arya, but she was good at making her feel small.

Ned nodded, seemingly satisfied, and took his wife's arm. Catelyn sent Aerya a look, "You'll stand behind Sansa, " she commanded. Arya nodded. Not next to Hodor, but definitely not out in the open.

By the time Ned and Catelyn had taken position, Bran and Rickon were already hurrying out. Robb stood with Jeyne by his side, her belly swelling with their first child. Sansa looked enchanting in her bright blue dress, and Arya knew the embroidery along the neckline as her half-sister's own fine even stitching. She shuffled behind her. Sansa was much taller than Arya, which made her feel very neatly hidden away from royal eyes.

It was while she was positioning herself just right, so as to peer through the gap between Sansa and Jon, that they all heard the hoofbeats. The sound thundered through the courtyard, announcing what seemed like an army. She could have sworn to the Old Gods and the Seven that the King had brought all of the South with him to Winterfell. She tried to pick him out of the crowd, going off of descriptions in books and her father's memories, but couldn't find the barrel-chested man with the long black beard and the burly arms. The only crowned man was old and fat. Robert Baratheon was not as described. Arya guessed that that tangled, filthy beard hid sagging jowls, and his eyes reminded her of a pig's. Where was the large, handsome lad who had fought a war for her dead aunt's honor? Where was the jolly, fun-loving king? This one looked washed up. He looked just as old as stodgy Lord Ned.

He needed a stool's help off of his horse, and when he was off, he didn't even bother waiting for his wife, Queen Cersei Lannister. The Lioness stepped out of her carriage just then, hardly bothered by her husband's abandonment, if her haughty expression was to be trusted. She had hair like spun gold, which fell in intricate braids down to her waist, and a gown of crimson silk. Three golden-haired children followed behind her like ducklings, although the oldest was less of a child. He looked to be of an age with Sansa, and Arya guessed he must be Prince Joffrey, second in line to the throne. Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella both had their mothers look.

But where's Prince Gendry? Arya wondered. He was the crown Prince, the one Sansa wished to marry. Arya was holding out hope that he was be as ugly as his father, as pig-eyed and fat, but the young man who sprung off his mount and hurried to catch his mother's arm was not ugly. He looked stiff beside Cersei, but handsome nonetheless. His shoulders were broad, and he looked well-muscled, but he wouldn't be called fat. A perfect Prince for perfect Sansa, Arya thought. How irritating.

After they bowed briefly, Robert strode to Ned.

"Ned!" King Robert roared, voice tinged with laughter. He was red-cheeked and grinning as he greeted her father. "Look at you! The North has made you old and fat!"

Father lifted an eyebrow "As the South has you," he japed. There was a moment of nervous silence as Robert scowled at his old friend.

But then Robert's laughter boomed, and Arya watched everyone around her give a sigh of relief. The King moved on to Lady Stark, giving her a brief peck on the cheek.

"How are you Cat?' he asked brightly.

"Very well, Your Grace," she replied. Arya couldn't see her face from where she was, but she knew the smile Catelyn probably wore, polite and completely false. It was the one she wore with all guests.