good dirt | arya stark

ten: ser meryn trant

Brandon Stark arrived while Ilana was asleep. The town was happy to have their last remaining Stark boy back, and so was Sansa. By the time Ilana had opened her eyes, the Starks already had their lovely reunion, and she dressed and moseyed her way down to the table.

   She arrived last, smiling at her old friend once before dropping the smile and nodding at Arya. Finally, she looked at Bran.

   Brandon Stark was staring down her soul. His eyes were lifeless yet so knowledgeable, as if he traded having a soul and emotions for knowing everything in the world. It was a bargain that Ilana might have considered back then. His eyes were brown and boring into her own, enough that it would have made her stumble back if she weren't stronger. If any man thought that the wheelchair he sat in made him any weaker, his eyes proved them all wrong.

   She racked her mind for a correct title to call the man that used to be a boy. "You must be Lord Brandon Stark."

    He shifted in his wheelchair, his arms now on each of the arms of the contraption. He sighed a long, emotionless sigh and continued to stare deep into her. "Yes," he murmured.

   "I have heard much about you from Lady Sansa." Irene said, smiling as best as she could. With anyone else, she would have been ready to scream at them for staring so openly, so clearly. But this was Sansa's little brother, and he was now a brother of hers. "She told me about all of you, it's so great to finally mee-"

   "I know." Brandon Stark had an empty voice to match the empty eyes he had, his hands rapping against his chair.

   "Irene," Sansa said, her voice something sad. It was the voice Sansa had when she was about to say something detrimental, something deathly serious. "I'm sure you noticed the guards outside of the door."

   "I have." If this were anyone else, she probably would have started shaking. Guards usually meant that something fishy was going on, and when the head of the house told you that there were guards posted, that meant that you were approaching the chopping block. That was what grandmother had taught her, and she was hardly ever wrong.

   "This is a safe place." Sansa said, leaning towards Irene, who was slowly nodding her head. "No one is going to hear this conversation."

    "It's okay if someone does," Irene said, her eyes roaming across the table. "Nothings happening." What in the hell was the conversation about?

    "Bran has told us something recently about you." Arya said bluntly, earning a harsh look from Sansa.

   "Not something about you, but something that involves you, Irene." Sansa clarified. "Irene, this is about Petyr Baelish."

Irene blinked once, her expression not changing even a bit. "Who is Petyr Baelish?"

Arya sighed deeply. "The more you admit to us, the closer we get to taking care of him."

"I thought he told you everything." Irene said, nodding towards Brandon, who had a soft smile on his face. The smile was more of a placeholder on his face than anything else, though, and it unnerved her.

"He refuses to tell us exactly what happened." Sansa said. "So we need you."

"Why?"

"We already plan to punish him for some crimes, why not all?" Sansa asked, taking Irene's hand. "Trust me, this is the last chance that you will ever have to get justice from Lord Petyr Baelish."

The words sent a shiver down her spine. She stared at Brandon, then Sansa. Lastly she looked at the ever impatient Arya, who was already staring with similar intensity. "Meryn Trant." Arya's brows raised.