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Chapter Text

Her skin crawled from the heat in her veins and the cold chill of her skin.

That was something she was always told by the septas and her siblings noted. The coldness in her hands. It was the worst thing in the short summer days. They flinched when they touched her. 

She remembered one day where Sansa had made an effort to be kinder to her under the supervision of their father. Her hands came to touch her hand, to give a gesture of the sisterhood only for the Tully girl to drop her hand at the chill of her skin.

It was something she gave a worried thought to but it eventually became her best weapon against her brothers. On unsuspecting mornings, she let the biting freeze of her hands scare her brothers into waking, their sudden shouts could be heard throughout the castle.

Lady Catelyn used to accuse her of playing in the snow when she was not supposed to but it was just her. It was a natural thing. An unnaturally natural thing. Children were warm, their laughter warmed hearts, their bodies warm with joy. but when her father held Arya as a babe she was always cold. So much so that he worried.

and yet he was the only one who could hold her hand without hesitance.  

Her hands were cold but they never shivered. They were steady and calm as she aimed a steady arrow in the first light of dawn in the quiet of the castle. She would learn to shoot an arrow no matter what Lady Catelyn had to say. 

She let a warm breath pass her lips, watched the chill air turn it to fog and she let herself imagine it to be smoke as she readied a false fire. and let the arrow loose. That's the third bullseye

Just as her lips pulled into a satisfied smile, she heard a steady clap from over her head. As she turned her head, she saw her father hands giving one last clap as he gave her a proud smile. And she hoped to burn the image into her mind for safe keep. She gave him a warm smile as she climbed the steps to see him. 

"You'll need a better bow. One for your size," he said as he took Robb's bow from her, but still sounded proud of her. And then she wishes she didn't remember this moment, because as he looked at her, the proud expression melted to pain and gave way to sadness. His hand touched her cheek and he pressed his lips to the top of her head as beckoned her to the table for their morning meal. 

And she used to think that she had done something wrong in that moment.

But that day also marked the start of Arya now taking a seat with the Stark family at least for one meal.

That also brought about an even colder look from Lady Catelyn

Her skin was cold as ice when she was having a fever. So cold that many thought she would die. She remembered the voices of her brothers, remembered Jon yelling at meister Luwin,  but the words were muddled from the daze of her fever.

She remembered the feel of her father's hand on her head.

Remembered hearing her septa's soft prayers, foggy and indecipherable but she knew they were prayers nonetheless

But most importantly, she saw a strange image. More so, a strange dream. A boy with white hair, a wolf with yellow eyes, the silver moon and the grey skies as a storm approached the shore. When her fever broke and she came to for the first time in a fortnight, she awoke to Lady Catelyn's face, in her hands a seven-pointed star carving and her face lined with regret but when their eyes met her eyes gave a look Arya couldn't understand and Lady Stark left the room without a word and not long after her brothers and father came into her room. 
Sansa even came by to offer the closest thing to sisterly affection she had expressed.

She wasn't allowed to leave the castle for a time, the little wolf-girl hadn't minded she was too weak to venture still but she was left with the images of her delirium. The silver light of the moon reminded her of the boy she saw, snow-white hair and the wolf she had seen. She thought of what that could mean, her young mind brought no answers and when she retired to her bed her eyes lingered on the blue winter roses Sansa had brought her in slumber.

That night she dreamt of a room that smelled of roses, faint and frilly with ornate white lace bedding and immaculately pretty in the way Sansa would fancy, and a girl looking at roses with a look of regret as her handmaid arranged her hair into a plait. Her eyes grey as her hands clenched the length of the gown.

"Do you love him?" asked the maid.

"Do you want an honest answer?" and the girl with regret in her eyes turned to the maid. "I cannot say that I do now." before turning back to the winter roses.

and from outside came the noises of a battle and the scene burned away, and then the dream showed the war she had read about in books. The banners and colors of Baratheon and Targaryen. Gold and black banners flew and red and black banners fell, both covered in grime and blood. There were screams and thunderous sounds of the horses charging. the steel that clashed in the dream was different than the sound of her brothers' swords clashing. 

She awoke in cold sweat at the brink of dawn. The first light of morning filtering through a window she didn't remember leaving open. But it let her see the last star of the night fade.

Rhaegar died a crumpled heap, covered in mud, blood and a crushed heart beneath the caved in armor

The dreams continued, but they were few and far between. It wasn't until the king had come to Winterfell that she dreamt another strange dream. She was sitting at the top of a tower, her place had been behind the Stark children next to Theon but she had been late, playing with Nymeria in the woods, and decided against running up to the precession to avoid Lady Catelyn. 

She remained at the top watched the precession come through the gates, King Robert looked nothing like the portraits or the stories. He was round and piggish, his laugh was thunderous and booming, she heard him from her place, he greeted her father fondly, kissed Sansa and Catelyn on the cheek and greeted her brothers with a proudness. And then went to the Crypts with her father and parties dispersed to get settled for the feast. 

Arya fully intended to not attend the feast, but as she hops through the window of her chambers there are handmaids waiting for her and before she could get a word out, Lady Catelyn came through the door, a stern expression on her face as she ordered a bath to be run and began to layout a gown. At nine summers, Arya didn't put up a fight to be placed in a dress. Arya's skin was scrubbed clean and her hair washed and as her dress was pinned and arranged, she remained still, held her tongue and gave subtle looks to Nymeria who remained obediently on her bed.

"You're thin, are you eating?" it takes Arya a moment to realize that the query came from Lady Catelyn and when Arya looks up at her through the mirror, her youthful face bemused as she stared back at Lady Stark.

Never once had Lady Catelyn expressed concern for her, never once had she made an attempt to be a mother, a governess at times but never a mother. Catelyn looked into grey eyes, the same grey as her husband, before shifting her gaze back to the blue-gray gown. "I know you run off in the woods with your wolf" she paused to pin a second layer decorative cloth along the shoulders, "are you taking food out there with you?"

Suddenly Arya can't find her voice but she manages to express question, "Shouldn't you be helping Sansa?" her voice a cold lilt.

"You need to be presentable, Sansa has no issues with proper feast etiquette you, on the other hand, require some guidance."

Arya stops the growl from rising in her throat but allows for the maids to help her into the under layers of her dress. The dressing is long and quiet, the air dense as the women work. Things only change when Lady Catelyn has her dress prepared and orders the handmaids to help her into it. When she's in the dress they move to her hair. As they work through the unruly knots Arya feels the material, and tentatively she lifts the decorative layer that fell along her shoulders, the design looked like snowflakes, a silvery white embroidery against the pale blue, the dress itself was a simple gray-blue the neckline high and embroidered with three simple dark blue roses, the sleeves fitted and a single rose at the top of her hands. 

"Sansa made this, too small for her but a tad big for you. But look" warm hands grasped her shoulders moving her to the mirror, "it fits well don't you think?"

Arya doesn't say anything, merely stares at the reflection. That's not me 

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind, the image of her morphed into another girl, her dress was different but she dressed in blue. Dark hair over her shoulder as she smiled at someone and swung the blue winter roses carelessly as she walked. The delicate petals falling from the force. A soft touch to her cheek brought her out of the trance. 

"You look like a Stark" Arya looks to Lady Stark, her expression dazed as she looked at the reflection of the two of them, a beat. A cold silence settles over them and she notices that the handmaids are no longer in the room. Nymeria sits up in her bed, gazing unflinchingly at her and Lady Catelyn.

"You look like your father" it's a passing muse as she grabs a brush and begins to run it through her already untangles hair. Hands carefully run through the dark locks, and Arya doesn't what to say to that. "When I was brought up here I was terrified. I didn't know anything about the North outside of the books but when I came up here" a mirthless smile passes her lips, "I couldn't stand the cold" she smiles but there's nothing warm about it. Her hands gathered the hair at her part, creating braid against the sides of her head before pulling them back. "You've got thick hair, lots of it. It tangles easily doesn't it? Just like your father's" Arya doesn't say anything to that either.

She feels a braid down her back before being coiled up into a bun a the back of her head. "If you keep your hair pinned up like this or braided tightly, it won't get as tangled as before." Her hands smooth over her shoulders, "You have lovely hair, it's a rich color and abundant. If you braid it, it'd look lovely." Before Arya can voice her question, ask what's going on there are tears welling up in her Tully blue eyes. "you look like her" its a passing whisper and suddenly Lady Catelyn Starks fingers are digging into her shoulders and she was looking into the mirror like she's seen a ghost. 

Nymeria's growl breaks the spell, she had jumped from the bed and began rounding on the two of them. Yellow eyes alight and to ready to attack. Arya feels lady Catelyn's fear without looking to her face and gives Nymeria a few soothing words before turning to Lady Stark. The Tully women wiped her eyes delicately, gathering her composure and smoothing out her skirts as readied herself to leave. "I'll send Rob to get you for the feast" and as she makes her way to the door they face each other, and the look returns like she had seen a ghost. A sudden stricken fear lined her face and coldness in her eyes.

The feast entrances are grand, Sansa on Jon's arm and she was on Robb's. Bran and Rickon had gone ahead of them. As they enter the music was playing and they were presented formally to their guests. Toher surprise, she was introduced as Lady Snow. It was Lady Arya. Just Arya. 

and she didn't mind but as they made their way to the table they took their seats at the main table. Robb, Jon, and Sansa sat at the end closest to their father. Bran and Rickon sat close to the King near their mother. She watched them a bit before letting her gaze move to the King's precession. He the Unwed King, refusing to marry, he had upset many families with his refusals to accept their young brides but he had a thousand bastards. That's what they said at least.

Two long tables near at the first-floor level had many boys, a few girls but mostly boys, all dressed in black and gold. None sat with them. And she almost wondered why before the king's booming voice cut through her thoughts.

"Is that your bastard Ned?" and she feels like everyone's looking at her. She notices the way Jon's jaw clenched before watching the King stand, squinting his eyes at her from his end of the table. "Well c'mere girl, greet your king properly" and she gets up carefully only because she knows now that everyone is watching her. A look from Catelyn let her know she must get up. And as she does she rounds the table catching glimpse of the table full of the Baratheon Bastards, all watching her. The musician's song isn't as loud as before and her steps seem to echo as she makes her way over to the Kings.

Gives a simple a curtsy keep her head up like her Septa said to, eyes downcast. Just as she straightens from the curtsy calloused touch her cheek. Her eyes snap to the Kings. His eyes happy and drunk cheeks rosy from the wine. He smiles fondly, lets his hand cup her cheek before sitting back with a howling laugh, "Now, you look like a Stark." He takes a hardy swig of his cup, "What's your name child?" 

"Arya" 

"A trueborn stark, you are. Gray eyes and dark hair..." he drunkenly muses "I'll find a good match for you." 

Thanks for reading. -V

Chapter Text

Stags and Wolves

The king's bastards were all similar. Blue-eyed and black-haired, the older boys were the King's image they said, she heard a few of them speak of Sansa illy and Arya wasted no time in slipping sheets of ice into their fine cloaks and making sure they would be soaked for any hunting or riding they intended to do in the north. She was asked by her father to remain close to Winterfell. Nymeria still roamed free, and Arya couldn't help her worry when she heard a few Baratheon boys speak of hunting wolves if one of them caught Nymeria and tried to skin her she hoped her wolf would eat them whole. 

"The wolves are sacred to the North" and the group of blue-eyed boys turned to one of the older ones in the bunch. Stefan was broad-shouldered and handsome if Sansa and Jeyne were to be believed. He was one of the highborn ones, the son of a Hightower girl if Arya remembered right. He stood before the bunch and Arya was reminded of her brother Rob and how he is what Steffan is.

She watched the boys, looked down on them from the covered bridge that looked over the training yard. It felt strange to watch them when so many said those boys were like the King and the King himself was nothing like them in looks at least. She heard the King's booming voice from the stables. Telling all of his boy's to ready for a hunt and she watched her brothers join them as they gathered to their horses. She felt Nymeria in the woods and wished she could join. But she was confined to the castle with orders from both her father and Lady Stark. 

Her father said it was improper for her to join the hunting parties or even join Nymeria in the woods, and the King and his boys were from the South where the traditions were much more strict. Bran stressed that it could offend the king, that it could cause issues between their father and the king if she tried. And she hated it but she listened. If the king and her father were friends the king would not mind her. 

She truly hated the king being here in Winterfell, it changed everything. Arya was sat in the sewing room with Sansa and the Septs, she sat fidgeting and watching her crooked embroidery grow even more so with every stitch. At least she was able to save Nymeria from being chained to the stables. Nymeria was out running wild as she was born and her other half was stuck indoors in a sitting dress with the hens of the castle. 

Arya feels the days grow long and she yearns for nightfall where her dreams carry her to Nymeria in the woods. Her mind lulls with the girls' chatter, and she almost feels sick when she does look into Nymeria. She wills it, wills her spirit to find Nymeria and join her in spirit through the cold forests. 

She can see the winter woods, feeling the cold in her fingertips felt freeing. The ice in her veins feels slight and ever so comforting but the feeling is all but fleeting as she focuses on the table in front of her, they sat breaking their fasts, the boys had been gone early morning hunt. She sat with Sansa and Lady Catelyn and watched as Sansa swooned over one of the twin boys from the Massey House of the crown lands. 

She watched on quietly as Lady Stark's lip curled ever so slightly as Sansa spoke of the boy's handsome features, of the proud way he carried himself and anything else she thought. She knew Lady Stark didn't take kindly to bastards, let alone allow Sansa to marry one in spite of being legitimized.

It isn't long before they're dismissed and Arya wastes no time in getting up and rushing to the door but it's Lady Starks voice that halts her. "Arya, you will be joining me this afternoon." and there's no room for argument as there never was with Lady Stark. 

She follows Lady Stark around the castle and she says she needs to start learning how to be a handmaid. At ten summers she knew better than to put up an argument without her father being there. So she followed Lady Stark and hardly noticed that she was being kept away from the eyes of the KIng.

She follows Lady Stark stands at her side as she heads the castle staff for another feast with Kings and his party. Later in the day, they are joined by Sansa and they go about following Lady Stark and keeping to themselves. 

Sansa doesn't say a word to her and she has no intention of saying anything to her either. It isn't until their afternoon prayer in the sept did Sansa speak, "You'll be attending the feast tonight? Mother will she wear another one of my gowns?" and she watches as Lady Stark placates her frazzled little bird. "I won't be able to match you, my lady. I'm a bastard and there's no match for me" Arya couldn't help huff out in the airy tone Sansa used when she tried to speak like a southron lady. Arya watches with a ten-year-old's glee as Sansa becomes as red as her hair, and she is sent to her room soon after.

It's nearing  dusk she should go down to the hall for the dinner with the King but she wants to be in her chambers, as she enters her 

"She has the Stark look."
"I don't disagree my lord," Catelyn huffed, she rarely paced, rarely ever looked distraught
"There's something you're not telling me" her voice wavers not at all the poised tone she aleys had, "I treated my good sister's child like a stranger. You let me mistreat that girl, allowed me to hate her-"
"I had no choice! I promised Lyanna I would keep her safe if Robert knew he would have killed her. Just like the Targaryen babes." 

"And now he's taking her." Lady Catelyn's were rimmed red, her brown lined with worry as she brought her face wipe away the forming tears.
"He wants her as his ward"
"He can't find out about this secret if he does..."
"Arya will be killed."

---

She learned to love storms but would yearn for the winter winds of the North.