"You would allow us to rule the North again?" Despite herself, she was surprised. My behavior had clearly caught her off guard. I was not shouting, not threatening—I had even made an offer. A very tempting one. She hesitated, then added, clearly buying herself time to think: "How am I supposed to believe your word?"
"I did not deceive Edmure Tully or Lysa Arryn. Why would I break my royal word when it comes to you?" I let a note of sarcasm slip into my voice. "You're not that important."
"And yet you're speaking with me."
"You're observant. I hope you've also noticed that I'm offering you something."
Arya fell silent, a faint flush touching her cheeks. All my words—and the irony behind them—had managed to crack her armor.
"Do it, and I will swear loyalty!" the girl finally said.
I liked that answer. It gave her room to maneuver and bought her time. Not bad—very good, in fact.
"Stop trying to run away, and sooner or later Winterfell will be returned to the Starks."
"Who will get it?"
"Rickon."
"You know where he is? Didn't Theon kill him?"
"The rumors are contradictory. He may still be alive, and I may yet find him."
"I don't believe you!"
"That's your right. But if I truly hated the Starks as much as you think I do, why would I bother with Sansa—or with you? Wouldn't it be simpler to resolve the matter quietly and without notice?"
"You're plotting something," she said, tilting her head stubbornly.
"Think about it. And don't run from the castle. Stay here for a month, and then we'll speak again."
"You're trying to buy time. Daenerys will soon arrive here with the Martells, and you don't want the Starks adding to your problems," she said. Living in the castle, speaking with Sansa—of course she was aware of much of the news.
"Just think—and stay here for a month. Talk to people. Don't run. It won't benefit you. Agreed?"
"May I go?" she answered with a question of her own.
"Yes. Ser Orm, escort her to her chambers."
Arya left. I exchanged a glance with Ragnar Ran. Through the slit of his helmet, I caught the indignation in his gaze—he clearly thought I had allowed the Stark girl too much freedom, enough to diminish the dignity of the crown.
I sent a letter to Edmure Tully, outlining the complicated situation with Arya Stark—her attempts to escape, her behavior. Let him start puzzling it out and prepare for what awaited him in the capital: the wild Arya Stark and the whining Robert Arryn.
***
Two weeks later, Arya Stark made another attempt to escape. This time, she was intercepted by the guards at the Dragon Gate. Sharp-eyed watchers stood there day and night, armed with a verbal description of her. She had changed her clothes, but Orm's men did not fail. It is not so difficult for an entire organization to hunt a single girl.
She was searched. They found several gold dragons, the sword Needle, and a strange coin. I knew what that coin was—and who had given it to her. Yes, I could have taken it. But I doubted that would have stopped Arya Stark from reaching Braavos—if she truly intended to go there.
After that, I spoke with Sansa, guiding the conversation in such a way that she felt embarrassment and shame for her sister. The younger Stark had either received money for her escape from Sansa—or stolen it. There were no other possibilities.
Sansa felt uneasy. Recently, she had settled into her life and now clearly understood that no royal tyranny threatened her. She might not have come to love Tyrion, but their daughter had changed something. Now she had someone to care for—and something to live for.
***
Forty days had passed since, while in the Vale, I had read the note sent by Harald Orm reporting that our enemies had arrived in Volantis.
Daenerys Targaryen, her three dragons, the Unsullied, the Dothraki, and the Martell forces had reached Westeros and landed at Sunspear. According to spy reports, they were greeted as liberators—the greatest hope of all Dorne.
On that same day, Arya Stark made yet another attempt to escape.
This time, she succeeded.
Or rather, she was allowed to succeed.
Perhaps I had known all along that this was how it would end. If I did not bind Arya Stark to me in some way, she simply could not be held. I had seen her unyielding nature… I knew she would never forget who had killed her father, and whose name stood first on her list... It was not difficult to predict how this would end.
I suppose I could have ordered Orm to tighten control—to have his men keep track of the girl's every move. Yes. But if she wants to run, sooner or later she'll manage it. And I had no desire to throw her into a dungeon and damage my relations with the Tully and with Sansa.
I believe I could have kept the girl in the capital. But by then, I was convinced—she had not changed, and she would not. She had not forgiven, and she would not forgive.
Now she was like wildfire.
You hold it in your hands, knowing that it will explode—if not today, then tomorrow, or in a week, or in a month. It will explode regardless. All that remains is to accept that fact—and ensure it does so when you are ready, and in such a way that no one close to you stands nearby, that the flames do not reach those you care about.
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
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