game of thrones drabbles

eddard stark's beheading.

arya stark was not a crybaby. she was young, yes, but she was most certainly not a crybaby; she could tell you herself.

but on the day her father was beheaded on king joffrey’s command in front of the crowd, that was entirely something different.

she felt such an immense fear and sadness well up inside her that was suffocating. worse than when she had to let go of nymeria, worse than having jon leave. her father was dead, and this was fact. because she had been there.

she closed her eyes, because she couldn't bear to see it happen right before her as she was restrained. she felt as helpless and weak as she had before she had needle and before the dancing lessons. she couldn't stop them.

and even if she didn't see it happen, she heard it clearly. it rang in her head and dug itself into her brain, forever remembering those sounds.

the crowd chanting, screaming and shouting as they called her father a coward and a traitor. no, she thought. he was not any of these things. joffrey baratheon was a coward, and a traitor. he should be killed, not my father.

and then the sound of the heavy blade swinging through the air. she could hear it through the screamings of the crowd, and she hated that. she couldn't stand it.

the sound of the blade digging into the back of eddard stark's neck. beheading him, and with that the thud of his head hitting the ground.

drip.

drip.

drip.

blood dripping onto the floor. and she will forever remember the horrible, ghastly sight of his beheaded torso.

arya stark was not a crybaby, but the very thing that broke her soul was witnessing her father's beheading. and seeing her sister stand there with that piece of shit who called himself a king.

she remembered what her father had said- winter is coming, and we must stick together.

except the exact opposite had happened- sansa had gone off with joffrey, rob was off starting a war on their now dead father's behalf with their mother, and she didn't even know where bran and rickon were.

winter was coming. and the white walkers, if they existed, were done with their sleep. and everyone would be a dead man. this she knew for sure.

and she also knew for sure that everyone standing there- joffrey, cersei, ilyn pane, and the hound, will all die. either at her hands or the god of death.

she would wait eagerly for their moments each.