Arya Stark
"Why is it that Joffrey has already managed to buy off everyone I know?" Arya said in indignation, glaring at Sansa with anger.
This wasn't their first conversation, but now the younger Stark had finally understood—Sansa had no intention of running away, and no wish for revenge. Arya saw such behaviour from her sister as nothing short of betrayal.
"He didn't buy me, Arya," Sansa said wearily.
They were in her chambers, and Sansa was holding her daughter in her arms. Arya had already met her niece, who had been named Jocelyn. As it turned out, Sansa and Tyrion had struggled to choose a suitable name, but eventually settled on that one, as it had appeared before among both the Starks and the Lannisters.
The very thought that she now had a niece whose father was a Lannister did not inspire Arya at all.
Still, of all the Lannisters, Tyrion was the one she hated the least. At times, Arya could even admit that Tyrion was a decent person—on the inside, if not on the outside. Her sister had been terribly unlucky, but worse than that, she seemed to have accepted it. Accepted their father's execution. Accepted being forced into marriage and kept in a gilded cage.
And Arya thought the spirit of the Starks had left her sister.
"Really? Then why do you look so satisfied with everything?" Arya paced the room, from the window to the door and back again.
Sansa lived in luxury. She had been given spacious chambers consisting of several rooms. The windows were draped in the finest Myrish silk; carpets and flowers were everywhere; expensive furniture filled the space, and the dishes were made of crystal, gold, or silver.
Little Jocelyn slept in an ivory crib, covered with blankets and swaddling cloths made from incredibly expensive fabric.
It smelled of cinnamon, of the south, of sun and warmth.
The scent disgusted Arya.
Outside, Sansa was guarded by a towering woman named Brienne of Tarth. Arya found her amusing, both because of her size and her mannish mannerisms. For some reason, Arya herself never noticed that by preferring trousers, doublets, and other typically male clothing, she resembled Brienne in many ways.
"What are you suggesting?" Sansa sighed.
All her thoughts were on her daughter—Jocelyn ate poorly and was frail. Numerous maesters assured her that the girl's health would improve with time, but so far, the mother herself saw no real change.
"You have to help me!"
"I'll give you whatever you need—clothes, money, food… But don't ask me to take part in anything," she cast a meaningful glance at Jocelyn and added in a barely audible voice, "Not right now."
"That tells me everything," Arya scoffed.
So—Edric Dayne hadn't supported her, and now her sister had betrayed her as well. She wanted to act, but no one who could help her seemed willing to do so.
"I need money!"
"Very well, you'll have it," Sansa nodded. "Won't you tell me what you're planning?"
"No. There's no need for you to know."
"You mustn't put us at risk, Arya!"
"When did you become such a coward?" Arya snapped. "Don't worry—I just want to escape the castle."
"Don't do this!"
Sansa tried to reason with her, speaking of such simple, sensible things—safety, caution, wisdom… Arya couldn't have cared less.
Without hiding her irritation and without saying goodbye, she left Sansa's chambers.
Escaping the Red Keep turned out to be far more difficult than she had first thought. All the secret passages she had discovered earlier—back when her father was still alive, when she used to chase cats—had now been sealed or blocked with doors. Guards stood by some of them, and it seemed that no matter how careful she had been, she had still been noticed.
And yet, she wasn't locked in her room or thrown into a cell. She was allowed to move freely throughout the castle.
The first time, she made it to the harbor, found a ship bound for Dragonstone, and managed to strike a deal with the captain for passage with a few coins.
They found her an hour before departure and brought her back to the castle. Then came another conversation with Sansa, who tried to make her see reason. Arya had already known every word before it was spoken—and none of it touched her heart.
Ten days later, she managed to escape again, but they caught her right at the Dragon Gate, just as she could already see the open road stretching into the distance.
She was brought back to the Red Keep once more. The bastard Joffrey didn't bother hiding his amusement. Sansa was angry. Tyrion muttered something about foolishness. The entire court looked at her as if she were a wild thing.
There were many girls there—Margaery, Myrcella, Roslin Tully—but none of them even tried to form any sort of relationship with her. She was too bold, too restless, nothing like a proper lord's daughter, lady, future wife of an influential man, and mother of his children.
What's more, she was not allowed to meet with them in private, and she had no access to Margaery at all. It was clear that the king was taking every precaution to shield his young wife and children.
Arya couldn't care less about their sidelong glances—or about them. Empty dolls, with nothing in their heads but pretty dresses, love ballads, and tournaments.
(End of Chapter)
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