If Ned Stark's children had learned one thing, it was a strict sense of honor, and Catelyn Stark had always impressed the importance of duty on them. So, whatever anyone might say about Sansa Stark, they could never say she wasn't an honorable lady. Even as she fled King's Landing in the night with her husband, Sansa did her duty by him. But that wouldn't stop her own personal disapproval.
"Ned, if we return to Starfall, we become traitors to the Iron Throne. We should not stand opposed to King Robert."
"I owe my loyalty to the Martells. And Dorne has all but declared for the Targaryens." Ned replied, his face a stony mask.
Sansa's husband was a good man, one not prone to rages, but she knew that he could be incredibly stubborn when he wanted to be. There's be no budging him in this. But that wouldn't stop her from trying.
"You also owe your loyalty to the North. Your wife is a Star,k of Winterfell! You can't expect win, Ned. Robert and my father won the crown as simple rebels- child rebels, at that. They're not children anymore, and they have the whole might of the Iron Throne behind them."
"There are things you couldn't understand, my Northern Lady. Up in snowy Winterfell they know that King Robert is just and good, that the Targaryens were depraved monsters..."
Sansa stared at him, astonished, frightened by the implication of his words, that this wasn't the truth.
"In Dorne, we remember. We remember that the Targaryens were not always bad, that Rhaegar Targaryen loved Elia Martell and that he gave her two children- children that the Lannisters killed. And Robert ordered that."
Sansa flinched, realizing suddenly- how could she have not known- that Dorne chafed under Baratheon rule, harboring rebellion in its very heart. She hadn't known that they awaited a Targaryen to take back the Throne. Maybe this was worse than she'd expected. Maybe her family was in more danger than she'd first assumed. Perhaps she was the safest Stark in Westeros.
Arya had always dreamed of proving herself in war. She'd lost count of the daydreams she'd had about winning her knighthood on the field of battle. She'd never imagined that war could be like this.
Once the King had announced his call to arms, things had happened fast. Jon and Robb had been sent North to gather their banners, and their father had ordered Jon to offer a marriage to the Mormont women. It had come as a shock to Jon, and Arya as well, but apparently Ned had decided that, after marrying his eldest children off to southerners, he must assure their loyal northerners they'd not been forgotten about. While father had always said there must always be a stark in Winterfell, King Robert had not felt to the need to bend to this particular superstition, so with the eldest Stark brother's arrival back in the North, their ancient keep saw the first Stark face in a whole three months.
Arya had to think that this war was, in part, caused by the absences of a Stark in Winterfell, no matter how small this seemed in the grand scale of war, she knew that direwolves were not meant to live in the South.
Jeyne and the children stayed in King's Landing. The journey North wasn't safe for them, and when Catelyn traveled to the Riverlands to secure the Tully's influence over the riverlords- particularly the Frey's- Rickon and Bran were left behind as well.
But while Arya did feel sympathy for Bran, thinking it a shame that father felt he needed shielding, Arya couldn't but be happy that they were safe. That is, for a time. But everything changed when Brienne told her that she'd be returning to Tarth.
"I need to return to the defend the smallfolk. I should have gone weeks ago, but Renly held me here," she explained. Arya assumed it was her way of requesting her return. But Brienne killed that hope almost as soon as it sprouted. "Your father made it clear that you're to stay here. I agree. Tarth will be dangerous, and you're not ready."
Arya rankled at this. "I am ready. You made me ready. I trained for years. And I'm a stupid simpering little girl, to be afraid of the sight of battle."
"You think little girls are the only ones afraid of battle, Arya? That shows me that you're not ready. But even if you were ready, it's not my choice. Your father wants you safe."
But Brienne would get no reply. Arya left the Maid of Tarth standing in the courtyard beside her horse and didn't bother to see her off to the sea the next morning. The only bright spot in the entire situation was that Kira stayed in the relative safety of the Red Keep, taking in a position as a maid in service to the Starks. But Arya didn't truly speak to her either.
She was wretched company, in fact. And she realized that she was being irrational and childish, further proving that she wasn't ready to fight, but to know that her father thought her inept and ill prepared was infuriating.
He still saw her as the silly little girl she was before she ran away, covered in mud and playing at swords with her brothers in Winterfell. Even Brienne didn't support her.
She was required to spend most of her time in her chambers, as being anywhere else only put her into a foul mood. She took to playing with Nymeria and railing against everyone when Kira would listen. The maid understood her plight, blessedly well in fact. The girl had dreamed of going off and discovering the world. As a simple maid, that hadn't been very likely. The difference was that Brienne had given Kira her opportunity while she'd taken Arya's away.
Ned wouldn't even allow her to venture into the city. And all of the newfound concern for her confused Arya. Growing up as her father's bastard, she'd been accustomed to a certain freedom that his legitimate children had not gotten. To have it taken away from her because he feared she'd run off again- this time to join in the war effort- felt like a betrayal.
In fact. Her father had successfully kept her shielded from anything concerning the war. All she'd had a chance to learn was that a leader claiming to be Aegon Targaryen had threatened to call Daenerys Targaryen with their three dragons onto the battlefield if Robert the Usurper did not surrender. King's Landing waited with bated breath, searching the skies for signs of dark shapes, but when there was no dragons, there was no surrender.
It wasn't until Ned came to her chambers that Arya heard anything of real worth. She gave a thought to ignoring his knock, but she needed to hear the news he might bring. She opened the door, sure she looked quite surly.
"Dorne has finally declared for this false Aegon Targaryen," he said by way of greeting. He looked haggard as he sunk onto her bed. Arya took the place beside him, but she kept a certain distance between them. "There's no word from Sansa, but Starfall stands with Dorne."
Arya bowed her head. Their family was flung far across the kingdoms, and none of them were truly safe, but Sansa's situation was most precarious. King Robert hadn't made it clear whether she would be punished once the war was won, but that might be because he didn't want to alienate the north.
"And Jon?" Arya asked. She hoped to get as much information out of her father as possible.
"He's taken Jorelle Mormont as a wife. He'll stay in Winterfell while Robb marches south with our troops. It's helped to consolidate the North, but Roose Bolton has caused no small amount of trouble. He wants to take advantage of Robb coming south. Jon will put a stop to it."
"How are the Stormlords faring? Has the Reach made their intentions clear?
"The Stormlords are barely holding their own against the Dothraki," Ned replied. "Arya, you must understand...this is a very dangerous time for us. For you."
She shook her head. "You've said that before. Father, what aren't you telling me?"
Ned stood, a sigh rushing out of him as he turned away from her. "I know that I have kept you in the dark, that I'm keeping things from you, but Arya, this is the only way I can keep you safe."
"I don't need to be kept safe. I've never needed that. I need to be allowed to prove that I can protect myself, father."
"Arya..." Ned trailed off. The way he said her name, it was the same way he'd said it a million times before. He was exasperated, trying to be stern, all while hiding that smile he got whenever she got brash, like she reminded him of someone.
"Who...who do you see when you look at me?" she asked, voice small. But she would not shy away from this. She needed to know if she was her mother, in any way. She'd grown up being told she was a Stark through and through, but Arya knew there were different parts of her. Stark blood didn't burn as hot as hers did. You need only look to her father and Jon to see that. "Is that why you're shutting me away from the war?"
"I see Arya. But...I also see Lyanna."
She sat up a little straighter, eyes widening. Her father had never dwelled very long on his dead loved ones. He never spoke of his brother, his sister, and his father, lost in the Rebellion, or his mother, lost only a few years before that. "Do I truly look like her?"
"You're a perfect image. And you act so much like her. You're as fierce as her. But you're also as foolish as Lya was, Arya. War is not a chance to prove yourself. It's not a challenge. War is a terrible, terrible waste. The most we can hope is that whoever it is, claiming to be Aegon Targaryen dies quickly, before anyone needs to be hurt."
"Father, it's been months, and we've lost a good deal of men... People have already been hurt."
He nodded, and Arya wished, not for the first time, that she could smooth the lines in his face for him, that she could carry his worries. If she hadn't heard him speak his dear sister's name, if she hadn't seen how tired he was, Arya might have finally worked herself up and ran off to war... But now she found herself ready to sit and wait, to spare her father any more pain. For a while, anyway,
The war was not as easily won as the King liked to believe. Gendry hadn't realized just how much trouble they were in until his father had finally agreed to send him to the front. His arrival happened to fall in line with that of the Northern troops. He led his own force of Lannister soldiers- a small force to be followed by Tywin Lannister and the bulk of his men- while Robb Stark rode before a fierce group of men swathed in furs.
"Bit warm for those, isn't it?" Gendry called out amicably.
"Not where we've ridden from," Robb responded in kind. "I don't envy Jon up there in Winterfell, hunkered down with his new wife."
"And why's that? Are Mormont women particularly unpleasant?"
"I'd not say that. Jorelle is pretty enough. But she reminds me too much of Arya. Wild as a wolf, and twice as disagreeable." Gendry laughed along with the eldest Stark, but there was no mirth behind it. As quickly as his good mood had come, it was gone again with thoughts of Arya. He'd never found her disagreeable.
"Dragon!" a man screamed from a distance away from the two men. They ducked immediately, as did the whole camp, as a sounds of fear rose up from the men. There was chaos among them as they all searched the sky. A dark spot winged itself across the horizon before Gendry's eyes.
"It's a bloody dragon!" Robb exclaimed, mirroring Gendry's own thoughts. "Seven Hells. A real dragon."
The Prince turned to one of his men. "Fetch me a raven. My father needs to hear about this."
Dragons. Word had reached them a few days ago, but the Red Keep was still shaken.
They'd all just assumed that this supposed Aegon Targaryen was lying about having dragons. But word from the front spoke of huge winged beasts approaching their forces, closer each day. They'd seen at least three. One would have been terrifying enough. But three.
Arya had thought that court had been empty before, but the halls were practically deserted now. The only houses with any true presence were The Tyrells, the Baratheons, the Starks, and the Lannisters. Everyone else had retreated back to their own lands.
Arya's eyes were open as she walked the halls, watching everything. It was easier than sitting in her room and sulking, gathering all the information she could just by paying attention.
For instance, she'd watched an overly paranoid Queen Cersei trying to convince her husband that Prince Gendry was not safe going to battle. She'd overheard a conversation between Olenna Tyrell and Margaery about staying away from pretty girls and learning to please her husband. Arya hadn't truly understood that, but the idea of her laying a hand on Gendry made her fists clench. Arya had even run into the infamous Spider.
The silk-draped and perfumed Varys has been floating down the corridor, in his way, when Arya had happened upon him.
"Aw, hello!" he greeted her, pausing on his way to wherever it was that Varys spent his time.
"Hello," she replied. She was unsure if she should curtsy, if he outranked her, but Arya was Arya so she left the notion alone, sticking to a simple nod.
"How are you enjoying your time here?" he asked, smiling prettily at her.
Arya's brow wrinkled with confusion, but she tried not to dwell on his words. Varys spent every minute of his day playing odd games with people. She would not overthink herself. "Just fine."
"I was truly surprised when you did not return to Tarth with Lady Brienne. I was under the impression that you'd taken up the position of her squire."
Arya frowned. "I did. But Lady Brienne didn't think I was ready for real battle. My father agreed."
"Your father...he takes quite an interest in you, my dear. It's odd, considering."
"Considering he's a lord and they're not known for taking responsibility for their actions?" she prompted.
Varys gave her a small, amused smile in reply, before choosing his next words. "He had no responsibility to take you in. It's within his rights to turn you away, even now. No. it's odd because of you're mysterious origins."
"What do you mean?"
"We were several years into a rebellion when you came along, my dear. No one is sure who your mother is, and Ned Stark isn't very forthcoming. Interesting that he'd become so protective during another such rebellion."
"Speak plainly," she snapped. "You think you know who my mother is? Is it Ashara Dayne?"
"I never said that. I think I know who your father is. More than anyone else."
"Varys!" Lord Baelish strode towards them before Arya could press the Spider for more information. She huffed and shot Little Finger a scathing look before rushing on towards the Tower of the Hand.
"What have I done to that girl?" Baelish exclaimed, but Arya had gotten too far away for her to hear any reply Varys might have given.
"You've never mentioned your mother," Arya said. She stared up at the stones of her ceiling. Kira lay next to her, and she felt her head turn towards her before the maid spoke.
"No, I haven't, have I?"
"I don't mean to pry, Kira."
"I know, Arya," Kira sighed. "No offense, but you're quite oblivious, you know. You're kind- sometimes too kind- but I don't think you spend much time thinking about how others feel."
"I was just-"
"I know... My mother died when I was a child. I don't remember much about her. Only what my father told me."
Arya turned to look at her friend, eyes wide. She'd always known they were kindred souls, but the feeling of having to wonder what a mother could possibly feel like... That was a feeling Arya always carried. It was familiar, and Arya was sorry she'd dredged that feeling up for her friend. "Do you know what she looked like? Did she look like you?"
Kira smiled. "You mean do I look like her? Yes. Papa says I'm her spitting image."
Arya nodded. "I don't look like my mother. I'm a Stark, through and through."
"Would you want to look like a stranger?"
She'd asked herself that question before. When she'd been quite young, one Sansa's tittering friends had said she looked like a horse, and Arya had found herself wishing she could look like Ashara Dayne, because she was sure no one have ever called such a great beauty horse-faced. And when she grew older, she wished for just a clue to her mother's identity.
But now..."I'm happy to look like a Stark. I love my brother Jon, and sometimes I can just pretend we're true siblings."
"You are true siblings. That's what I don't understand about you highborns- don't interrupt, Arya, because you're a highborn too, everywhere it counts- you care too much about how a child was born, you don't stop to realize that a child was born. My grandmother used to say that every child was a gift from the Mother, that we should be grateful, no matter the circumstances of their birth."
"Kira, sometimes I'm struck with how incredibly clever and kind you are," Arya breathed, laying her head against her friend's shoulder.
"Well pay attention, because you should always be struck by how incredibly clever and kind I am."
Arya's laughter burst out before she could stop herself, and soon the two were laughing hysterically, both of them realizing that the joke was not nearly as funny as the laughter itself. The hysteria was interrupted, however, by the sound of shouts coming from the floors below them. They sat up in bed, laughter dying instantaneously.
"What's happening?" Kira questioned, face clouding over with worry.
"Nymeria!" Arya called out sharply. The large furry shape that was Arya's direwolf suddenly appeared beside the bed, staring at her master attentively. "Come on."
"Arya!" Kira called after her, but she was already out the door, Nymeria close on her heels.
She made her way down the steps two at a time, not even considering she might not be welcome to the commotion downstairs.
The commotion downstairs appeared to be an impromptu Small Council meeting. She stood stock still as five pairs of eyes landed on her. Along with her father and the King, Arya counted Little Finger, Varys- the pair were an unwelcome sight after the event of that afternoon- and Renly.
"Arya-" Ned began, but the King's eyes lit up at the sight of her.
"Maybe this girl will give me the answer I want, Ned. Her vote can count for yours," Robert barked. She paled, regretting coming down the stairs more than anything. "Come along, come closer, girl."
Girl, he called her, like she didn't have a name. But she came forward nevertheless. She took a place just behind her father. He sent her a warning look, and she wondered what she was getting herself into.
"Dragons. Fucking dragons." King Robert shook his head. "And your father wants to send a diplomat to talk to these silver-haired bastards."
"And my brother wants to risk his soldiers attacking fire-breath monsters!" Renly announced. The man looked exhausted, as well as completely disinterested in this obviously heated debate that had just recently been taking place at the small round table.
"No man can hope to defeat a dragon. We must reach an agreement. Something. That or we need to devise a strategy to defeat them. We cannot continue as we have."
"Is it bad?" Arya asked, voice low. "Is...Robb safe? She asked. But that wasn't the only warrior she wanted to ask after. Prince Gendry was out there, fighting dragons as well. Her heart jumped at the thought of word coming back that he was hurt, or worse... Or worse.
"No one is safe. Not now," Little Finger said ominously. "But if we had a way to kill these dragons."
"And what do you suggest. If our men aren't being harried by those damn savages, they're being attacked from above!"
"I agree with Lord Stark, Your Grace. We need a...subtler approach if we are to succeed here. I think a diplomatic envoy would be beneficial, as long as a few well placed agents went along with them."
"What are you suggested, Varys?" Ned asked gruffly.
"Perhaps an assassin's blade will find the heart of Aegon Targaryen, my lord."
"An underhanded trick," Renly scoffed, but he didn't look entirely opposed to the plan.
King Robert looked unimpressed, but he raised no objection. Her father did, though. "Your Grace..." He began, but Robert shot him a look.
"We won't have a repeat of what happened between us before, Ned. Varys will make the arrangements. I won't let the bastard carry on tearing apart my kingdom. And once we're done with him, we'll properly punish the damned Dornish traitors."
Arya's breath came quick as she watched these plans being made. King Robert made the decision to murder men without a thought. He dismissed his hand and underestimated dragons, for Stranger's sake. Was he so foolish as to think ending the war was as simple as thrusting a knife at a rebel in the dark?