Gendrya

Bring Me His Head

At first, Arya didn't understand. She wandered the streets for days before hearing the bells ring at the Great Sept of Baelor. She followed the crowd to the podium and kept her head down. If a goldcloak saw her, she would be up there with her father. 

Joffrey Baratheon stood with a crown on his head and a crimson cloak about his shoulders. He spoke of how Ned Stark conspired treason against the throne and had to repay for what he had done. Arya furrowed her brows. Her father spoke little with Arya of his plans, but she knew that Joffrey was born of incest. Yes, saying these things about the King of the Seven Kingdoms is immoral, but it is not treason. Perhaps there was more to her father's plan. 

Arya watched Sansa look dreamily at Joffrey up on the stage, like she was performing. 

"My lady Sansa has begged for her fathers forgiveness," Joffrey said. "And my mother has advised me to spare the man."

Arya caught her father's eye. He looked surprised to see her.

"But these are the tender ways of women. I show no mercy to traitors."

Arya heard Sansa ask, "What? Joffrey, my prince-"

"I am your king," he snapped. "I have shown too much kindness even with your father's treason."

Queen Cersei touched her son's shoulder and spoke into his ear. Joffrey flinched away from her. "Ser Illyn," he addressed. "Bring me his head."

"No!" Sansa screamed. "Joffrey, please!" 

A big man unsheathed an even bigger sword. 

Arya and her father shared a moment of silence. "Go," he whispered to her, as if she could hear it. Arya shook her head, no, as a tear rolled down her face. She silence remained and something grabbed Arya's arm. She didn't fight the force that dragged her away from her father and sister. 

Arya looked up to the sky and heard the slicing of flesh and a crash. Sansa was no longer standing, and neither was her father. 

Arya muffled the sound of cheering and clapping. Suddenly, she was stopped. She opened her eyes and saw a man. 

"Arya," the man said. "I'm here to take you home."

Arya was still paralyzed. She could not speak. All she could do was nod. 

"Okay," he sighed. "We have to leave. Now. I need you to be brave."

Arya nodded harder. She followed him through streets and to a small clearing with wagons and men. 

"Stay right here," he ordered. "I'll be back."

What just happened? Arya just watched her father die and now she's sitting on a bale of hay in the sun waiting for a man she's never met to help her. She tried to comprehend. 

"You're dirty," a fat boy said. Arya looked still at the ground. "Hello? I spoke to you."

"Hello," she said quietly. 

"What's wrong with you?" he poked her thigh.

She moved over an inch. 

"Why are you so quiet?" he said. "Do you know how to speak?"

Arya thought he was mocking her. "Of course I do," she hissed. 

The boy was taken back by her voice; how proper she sounded. "I meant no offense, you just, uh, look sad."

"Then maybe you should leave me alone?" she said to the floor. 

"Alright," he was offended. The boy got up and Arya was alone. Again.