If I Want To

Arya

After she had wiped away the stubborn tears that she couldn't hold back, and scowled until her head hurt, the guilt that she had attempted to keep at bay, started sneaking its way back in.

She supposed that she shouldn't have thrown the orange at Sansa. Her sister wasn't truly trying to be mean, although her words cut Arya all the same.

But she couldn't apologize right away on account of having been banished to her bedchamber, so that would have to happen on the morrow.

Father had been quite cross when she had met him in his solar, Arya remembered regretfully. What were you thinking? he wanted to know. But she hadn't been thinking, she had only felt fury in that moment when she had thrown her orange at Sansa. The wolfsblood, she imagined. But wolves don't turn on their own.

Arya's gaze shifted longingly to the heap of old clothes on which her wolf would normally sprawl, but Nymeria was currently gone. Mother had decided that Arya's behavior had been too distasteful for her to even be allowed the comforting presence of her direwolf.

The young girl pursed her lips. If she had known that she wouldn't even get to keep Nymeria with her, she might have tried a little harder to maintain a calm demeanor. Now she was forced to spend the rest of the day here, with naught to do save listen to the gentle rattle of the shutters as they were assailed by the north wind.

If it had been Sansa banished to her chamber, she would easily have found something to provide a respite from the boredom, but none of the indoor activities that her sister took joy in caught Arya's fancy in the least.

It was a shame, she brooded, that the ability to climb well was a gift that Bran alone possessed. She could have climbed out of her window and sneaked to the rooftops. And instead of long dreadful hours sitting in her room, the hours would have flown by as she laughed and ran overhead. If Bran happened upon her, they could play swords with the sun gleaming down on his fiery hair and the world spread out below them. And by the time night settled over Winterfell, Arya would have been safely nestled in her bed, and everyone would remain none the wiser.

She sighed as she lay back in her bed. At least she could climb the highest walls of any of the towers in her dreams. And the morrow would arrive much quicker if she slept. With another sigh, her eyes fluttered shut.

Arya awoke to a new morn, which she greeted with a groan and a touch of reluctance. After suffering through a bath and the cleaning of her teeth, she impatiently dressed and hurried down to break her fast. The entire meal was an uncomfortable affair for Arya, as she felt disapproval radiating off of the septa; and Sansa—who had yet to forgive her—ignored her and remained unusually quiet and withdrawn until Arya was squirming in shame.

Once she finished eating and excused herself from the table, she found small activities to pass time with while she built up the courage to approach her sister.

It was about an hour later that she became aware of the hushed chatter of Jeyne and Beth in the courtyard, as they occasionally whispered and giggled into Sansa's ears. With a gulp that was difficult to force down, Arya walked over to Sansa, prepared to ask the older girl's pardon.

Her sister's face was marble, smooth and impassive, her eyes like frozen lakes—the surface impenetrable making it difficult to discern what lay underneath. It was an unsettling version of the beautiful girl with a head full of songs, and Arya realized that she didn't care much for this replica.

Her own stormy eyes reflected their surroundings, denying access to the emotions raging within as she faced the auburn haired girl. She fidgeted with a loose thread on her dress and studied her shoes for a while, before her bony shoulders squared and she lifted her head. The words that floated out of her mouth were rushed, and Arya paused and released a determined breath, before she repeated the words in a clearer manner. The youngest Stark daughter looked properly contrite for her previous behavior, and her words hung in the air after her mouth had shut, genuine and soft.

Sansa ever the lady, sat up straight, head high and regal, her mask finally slipping away at the younger girl's meek tone. The tension eased out of her shoulders, allowing them to settle as she forgave her sister for the humiliation that she had wrought.

"I won't do it again," Arya promised.

"Okay," Sansa said doubtfully. Even Arya didn't look as if she believed her own claim. She was a willful one, with a temper that was ferocious when set off.

With an awkward smile at one another, Arya turned and dashed away, while Sansa lowered her gaze to the unfinished scarf in her lap.

There were a bunch of children already gathered, including Bran, when Arya made her way deep into the godswood. She spotted Turnip the cook's boy, and Joseth's girls Bandy and Shyra, Palla the kennel girl, Cayn's boy Calon, and TomToo, Fat Tom's son. Mycah the butcher's boy and her dearest friend, had even been able to slip away to play, Arya discovered to her merriment.

The children huddled in a tight circle as they chewed over which game to play. After a few suggestions tossed back and forth, they narrowed down on one before slowly dispersing.

"Who goes first?" Arya asked, picking up a fallen stick. They had agreed to play lord of the crossing.

"I'll be the lord of the crossing," Bran volunteered, and Arya passed him the stick.

The game was played by having the lord of the crossing stand on a log that was laid across a pool. With a stick in one hand, he stood guard over the crossing and the other players attempted to gain permission to cross by answering a series of questions or putting together a speech about their intentions that may or may not be true. If they told a falsehood or swore an oath to the lord of the crossing, then they were bond to the oath, unless if they said 'Mayhap' and knocked the lord of the crossing into the water before he could knock them into it with his stick.

It was a fun game with equal parts splashing, arguing, hitting and shoving, and equal parts answering questions, making speeches, and strategizing. They all ended up muddy and soaked and Arya was having too much fun to spare a thought for how cross her lady mother and septa would be.

Some of the older boys drifted away once they grew bored, to play swords using broken branches and sticks, and Arya eagerly joined in, soon ending up in a heated swords play with Turnip.

Arya jumped up on top of a rock in order to gain a better advantage, and slashed savagely at the older boy. With a piercing crying, she leapt down, bracing herself as she slammed her weight into him. The surprise attack caused Turnip to stumble, and Arya used the opportunity to slash her stick across his thigh. He toppled backwards and into the black pool.

"Surrender, or lose your head!" Arya commanded, face red and her branch posed threateningly over the boy, ready to whack him again at the first sign of resistance.

He grumbled as he made his way out of the dark pool, his hands bare and weaponless as he raised them in surrender.

"You fought bravely, and for that I shall give you your life. But heed this warning. If you dare rebel again, your treason will be rewarded with the removal of your head."

Turnip gave a nod of defeat and Arya flashed a quick toothy grin before spinning around to find another boy to conquer.