good dirt | arya stark

four: the highest treason

She was starving. She hadn't managed to find any meat to eat, and she had no weapons to kill anything. She was eating every berry that she knew was harmless, and that wasn't nearly enough for her, forget about that being enough for a fully grown horse. It was morning now, and it was getting hot once again as she rode the horse. She could only imagine how tired the poor thing was.

    She nearly fell off of her horse within hours of riding slowly, close to passing out. Her frail bones needed things to supplement them, as did her entire body. She was prone to heat, and any extreme weather. She figured that the cold would do her better than the heat of Kings Landing, though. Her body swayed to the side, leaving to the right as she fell from her horse entirely, which didn't stop at all. She watched it with labored breaths as it trotted away, completely leaving her vision as she tried to catch her breath. She closed her eyes and wheezed, her frail body finally realizing the state it was in.

    "My Lady," a man's voice said, and immediately her eyes shot open. Irene's thoughts ran wild, debating with herself on whether she should try to flee or lie. If she took the opportunity to run away, she would be caught for sure and questioned. No innocent person runs. "My Lady,"

   She wheezed again, shutting her eyes while the man was still behind her. She slowly opened them. "I'm fine, carry along." Her voice was airy and shaky as she answered.

   A hand gripped her own hand, a strong hand at that. Within a second of holding it, she could tell that the man owned a sword and used it often. "Let me help you, Lady Tyrell." She didn't allow her back to stiffen as she heard her name, the name that wasn't even exactly hers. Lady Tyrell was her grandmother's name, maybe even Margaery's. She would always be Lady Irene.

"What?" She whispered out. "I'm no lady," she brushed herself off weakly, standing and letting her eyes reach the man's eyes.

He stood much taller than her with a soft smile, and facial features that certainly weren't of the Riverlands. Every place had a certain look, and that man was no doubt from the Reach. Everything about him screamed the Reach, all except for his back hair. It was a strange characteristic to have when you came from the Reach, seeing that most of them had light hair. Only some had black hair there, and the most notables were the Oakhearts, a house loyal to the Tyrells. The man looked familiar, too familiar.

"You don't have to lie, Lady Tyrell." He said, letting go of her hand. "I am a lord myself, in a way."

"I'm not a lady, though." She said adamantly. "I'll be on my way, then, My Lord."

"Milord," he corrected in a sing song tone. "You think you'd recognize me, even after all this time."

She stepped closer, minding the huge sword that was attached to his own hip, and his hands. They were open palmed and facing towards her, as if assuring there was no threat. "You're not," She whispered, seeing his coat of armor on his shield. Three leaves on a yellow coat, the sigil of House Oakheart. She put her hand above her mouth, all pain in her bones and body going straight to her heart at the sight of seeing the boy she left behind a man. "Kiran?"

His shoulders sagged, but his facial expressions showed that he knew that he was going to be mistaken for another. "I'm the younger one."

Images of the boy who she saw chase Kiran around flooded her mind. There was no way that the little boy from her memories was this giant man who carried a sword half his size, smiling down at her. "Eris Oakheart?"

"That's my name, Lady Tyrell." He bowed to her, smiling on his way back up. The two brothers had the same smile.

"Oh my god, you," She put her hand over her mouth again. "How are you so old? Grown?"