If I Want To

Arya

"Oomph!" Arya exclaimed as she tumbled and fell after losing her grip on the low hanging branch that she had been grasping.

Frustrated, she kicked the trunk of the sentinel tree, but that only served to cause stinging pain to shoot through her big toe. Hopping in pain and frustration, Arya bit down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out.

It was no use. She had been attempting for an hour now to climb up onto the armory wall and make her way to the roof like Bran did. He made it look so easy, shimmering up to the top like a squirrel. And how thrilling it all sounded when Bran described hopping from roof to roof— from the armory to the guards hall —all the way to the First Keep, swinging across from gargoyle to gargoyle, then stretching out his body for that final reach which made it possible to reach the broken tower.

Arya had never entered the broken tower. No one had for hundreds of years. Only Bran.

"My favorite place is the broken tower," Bran had confessed, bright eyed and flushed cheeks, "all the crows know me up there. And they love when I bring them food."

It made Arya surly to think that she would never experience any of this for herself.

All of her siblings seemed to possess a special distinction that she lacked. Robb was the heir. Jon was the bastard. Sansa was beautiful. Bran could climb anything. And Rickon was the baby.

I'm just me. Arya Horseface. The mocking nickname caused a burning in her throat and her mood only worsened when she spotted her older sister in the courtyard.

Sansa looked beautiful as she brushed Lady's fur, singing sweetly about a lady fair as her thick auburn locks shone in the sun. Her sunlit ocean eyes were an enchantment on their own—just as vivid as Robb, Rickon, and Bran's, but twice as enthralling.

"When you are older, sweet one, many a man will drown in your eyes." Arya could hear Mother's voice cooing in her mind even now, as she fuzzed over Sansa's gleaming mane.

Their lady mother would often spend what felt like hours, lovingly brushing the eldest Stark daughter's thick auburn hair, a shade lighter than her own. The brush would glide almost effortlessly through Sansa's soft strands, and before Arya fell asleep, each tendril in her sister's hair would be glowing like copper in the candle light. The thought caused dull resentment to run through Arya.

My ratty hair is not worth anyone's time.

Turning away from Sansa, Arya headed towards the inner ward, letting her feet lead her until she came upon Bran shooting arrows with Theon, Jon, and Robb, while Rickon, the baby, sat nearby, laughing and clapping, ShaggyDog silent and watchful by his side.

Bran was hopeless, Arya noted, as he consistently failed to hit the target. They were matched when playing swords, but she was sure that she could hit the target at least once when it came to archery. Eager to prove that she could best him in something after her failed attempt at climbing, Arya dashed forward, grabbing a bow.

Father's laughter boomed from the wooden parapets above, and Arya glanced up eagerly. "Watch me!" she commanded, before letting the arrow fly.

With a precision that shocked even her, the arrowhead impaled the target, sending her three brothers whirling around, surprise painting their features as their eyes landed on her.

Arya bowed mockingly and Bran threw his bow down with a frustrated growl as he gave chase, upset at having been out performed by a girl.

"Hah!" Arya cried joyfully as she evaded him. She may never climb like Bran, but she could at least hit the target once and she was faster too.

She ran until Bran grew tired and gave up, his seven-year-old legs were still shorter than hers; Arya just didn't understand why they could climb better. Leaving Bran behind, she doubled back to the inner ward to watch her older brothers.

"Can you teach me?" Arya asked, going over to them.

"It seems like you're already better than the rest of us," Jon declared, mussing her hair.

Arya made a face at him. "It was simply a lucky shot," she admitted.

"Well, make more lucky shots like that and you could fool everyone."

"Maybe Theon can teach you one day if you wish it," Robb suggested.

Arya's face lit up. "For true?" she asked.

"Why not?" Robb asked. "It's not like anyone can stop you."

"I'll be better than Bran at almost everything. I already am," Arya declared. "No one can stop me from fighting just because I'm a girl. Or training in archery either. I'll be as good as any of you."

"If Lord Stark allows it, I can teach you how to shoot arrows as well as a Greyjoy," Theon interjected.

"I would like that," Arya replied.

With a nod of his head, Theon returned to archery practice with her brothers, and Arya turned and hurried to find some children her age to pass the time with.

She found herself back near the sentinel tree, bypassing it this time as she made her way further past the surrounding ironwoods, oaks, and elms, mingled with some chestnuts and ash. Faint cries and happy shrieks echoed from the heart of the godswood, slightly smothered by the dense trees.

Deeper in the godswood, near the inky black pool, the children of Winterfell's servants were already at play, and Arya's feet picked up pace, silent on the ground even as she ran, until she stood before the ancient weirwood, the red of its leaves as deep and red as Tully hair, its face as hard as the North, its eyes weeping blood, or so Arya liked to tell herself. A slow smile curved across her face as she took in the sight before her.

"Want to play?" a voice called out to her.

Arya slipped away from the heart tree. "Of course," was her ready answer.