good dirt | arya stark

seventeen: the door

There were so many people going in and out of Winterfell that it was damn near impossible to keep track. Small armies from south of them and had come to fight the Army of the Dead, and with it came more hungry people. They were hanging on, though. Maybe that was why she didn't notice a plethora of things. A boy named Gendry from Arya's past had arrived, and Irene found that it shook her much more than she would have liked it to. Especially because they were all facing rather imminent death.

Irene stood outside of Arya's door in the night, her fist held above the dark wood dramatically. She lowered her head and shook it at her own antics before breathing out shakily and exerting way too much force in the knock, which seemed to go straight though the door and into the air.

"Ow!" Her hand was caught and she was turned and bent at an awkward angle, strong hands holding her face towards the ground. She fought the instinct to struggle. She was in a position that would have surely broken her arm if she tried too hard to be released. She didn't even know who this person was. She really didn't even know if this was Arya's door. "Let go!"

She was instantly let go and shoved a distance away in the dark hall. She rubbed her shoulder and elbow, grimacing and starting to fear whoever was behind the door. A flash of light temporarily blinded her and she squinted, putting her hand above her eyes and flinching at the ache.

"Oh. It's you." The voice was definitely Arya's. "I'm sorry."

"Arya, what the hell?" Irene muttered, throwing her arms up at the girl who held the torch, looking as expressionless as ever. "How did you even know I was at your door? How could you see me? It's pitch black in this hall."

"You have a lot of questions."

"Yes, to which you are to return something for each one of them." Arya cracked a smile in the darkness that was soon lost again.

When she answered, her voice was dark and gloomy. "I learned how to see in the dark a long time ago. But as for knowing you were there," Arya laughed quietly, a short little laugh that made Irene's heart jump. "I can sense certain things after them being there for about two hours."

"I was not at your door for two hours," Irene said defensively, her own smile growing.

"Sure you weren't, Southern Rose. Why are you here?"

"Is it bad of me to want to see a friend?"

    "No, but it is a little strange that you want to see a friend when it's so late at night."

   Irene smirked to herself. "Well, your sister is asleep. You're option two."

"Ah," Arya sighed in playful pain, her face scrunching up. "I see."

   Irene hummed. She tried to contain her smile that was pressing to grow on incessantly. "May I come in, Lady Arya?"

  "As long as you swear to never call me a lady again." Arya held the door open for Irene, watching her with gentle eyes as she entered the chambers. "Why are you really here?"

There was finally light as Arya set up the torches. Irene rubbed her hands over the fabric of the dress she was wearing. It was plain and gray, nothing special. She argued with herself internally, deciding on whether to answer truthfully. "I need company."

"You need company?"

"I," Irene scolded her mouth. "I find it hard to be alone sometimes." Especially when I'm about to fucking die.

  Irene wasn't trying to fool herself into thinking that she was going to survive the fight. She wasn't made for that. Her body wasn't even made for waking, originally. There was no way that she was going to survive unless she stayed holed up, and even then that created problems. She was a sitting duck just like the rest of them. Her past wealth and name did nothing for her now, the White Walkers didn't give two shits if you were a king or a stable boy. They were going to kill her and raise her again, put her in their army.