[Chapter Size: 3300 Words.]

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Third Person POV

North, 297 AC.

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“Make your tents while I go speak with my father about some things. I’ll be staying in the castle, but we’ll train every day.” Arya said to her men, while they all nodded, taking only her Artican group and her lady-in-waiting with her.

Arya returned to Winterfell after that, where her father waited near the gate with Wendel Manderly, probably discussing her stay.

“Are you done? Do you need anything else?” he asked as Arya shook her head.

“I don’t need anything, thank you. They’ve managed on their own, but I need rooms for my Artican companions,” she replied to her father, who nodded.

“I’ll leave that to Vayon Poole to organize. Now let’s head into the castle. Your mother is eager to have you back in your room again,” he said, motioning for Arya to follow him to the entrance.

But not before turning back to Arya as they prepared to reunite with the family waiting at the castle’s entrance. “One more thing: try to have a bit of patience with her. You know, she’s a bit misguided, and it’s worsened over the years. Your departure shook Catelyn quite a bit…” he said carefully.

Arya looked at him, reflecting for a moment, but responded with a firm tone. “I can do that, but I won’t tolerate any disrespect toward Jon. Let me be very clear. Jon didn’t kidnap me; going with him was my choice. I don’t regret what I did, and I’d do it all the same again. Not because I have anything against you, but because it was how I found my place in the world…” she said firmly to her father.

“Alright, I understand. I’ve already spoken to her and asked her to restrain herself, so I hope she doesn’t act out…” Ned replied, and Arya nodded.

Thus, they proceeded to the castle entrance with Arya’s guards, where her mother came, accompanied by the septa and some servants, to receive her back.

Her mother approached with a cautious look at Jill and Buri, who followed closely behind her daughter, but she smiled warmly at Arya. “Come, Arya. I’ll have some servants take your belongings into the castle.”

“I’d rather not, Mother. There are many valuable things among them, so I’ll have my guards handle it,” she contradicted her mother once again, obviously unwilling to leave her luggage with strangers.

Catelyn didn’t scowl this time, keeping her composure, and nodded, noting that Arya had her own guards. Meanwhile, she invited Arya to follow her, as Buri had to carry the luggage with Jill winking at him due to his new task, while Arya walked with her mother.

“Princess…” Jill said as she drew closer to Arya, her words loud enough for everyone to hear, leaving them stunned by the title.

“Princess?!” Catelyn was the first to react, staring at Arya and her guard, bewildered. Even the septa, Sansa, and her friends, who were present, widened their eyes in shock at what they heard.

Nearby, Ned scratched his head. He already knew this was Arya’s status in Artica, as the royal guards called her that all the time. Bran, Robb, and Rickon stood at a distance, as their mother wanted to show the castle to their sister.

“Yes… Arya is a princess in Artica,” Jill explained to the speechless woman, who had questioned it aloud.

“There’s no known kingdom called Artica,” Septa Mordane’s voice was heard, laced with disdain.

“Westeros isn’t the only place in the world with kings and queens, madam…” Jill retorted.

“Septa Mordane,” Arya introduced sharply, her tone far from friendly. She knew Jill had addressed her directly because of the stern look the woman had given her, which was disrespectful.

“Ah, yes… the religion of the south…” Jill commented with equal disdain.

“You attacked the Citadel and slaughtered maesters and septons like savages! The gods will show no mercy to your souls!” the septa snarled, as the tension in the air grew thicker and thicker.

“We do not fear your gods if you think you can frighten us with words. We have our own gods, gods of this land. Besides, we forge our path with steel and fire, not with words, if you think you can judge us,” Buri said, carrying the luggage as he placed a hand on his sword. The septa’s eyes widened in fear, realizing these savages had mercilessly killed unarmed septons and maesters.

“Order!” Lord Stark’s voice thundered with authority, as his guards also placed their hands on their weapons near his wife, responding to Arya’s guard’s implied threat.

“Let’s put an end to this madness! Arya has just returned—can we go one day without anyone trying to kill each other? You…” Lord Stark first turned to the septa with a disapproving glare. “You must not provoke any guest of this house. I’ve already spoken to you and Catelyn about this. Moreover, you’ll need to get used to the idea of Arya being addressed as a princess of the kingdom beyond the Wall, whether you like it or not.” His words made the septa lower her head.

He then turned to the guard who had spoken last. “I will not permit you to draw your sword in my house,” he said sternly, though Buri did not flinch under Lord Stark’s gaze.

“I have nothing against you, your people, or your religions, but I will not tolerate any disrespect toward my king, my house, or my gods,” Buri responded firmly.

“Buri, calm yourself,” Arya interjected, turning to her father. “He is right about this, Father.” Her words made Lord Stark regard her for a moment before sighing and nodding.

“Bring bread and salt to my daughter and the Articans visiting Winterfell. They will be treated with respect here,” he said at last. Servants brought the items, and the ritual of guest right was performed. Once it was complete, Catelyn approached her daughter.

“Come, Arya. I’m sure you want to take off that armor and put on a dress,” she said, trying to brush aside the earlier tension and enjoy her daughter’s presence.

Arya sighed, knowing her mother would try everything to steer her away from things she deemed unsuitable for a lady. “Alright, Mother…” she said wearily, following her inside the castle.

Jill trailed behind, while Ned stayed back to speak with some guards and Ser Rodrik, who had been watching them the entire time, keen to observe Arya after so long.

Buri followed closely, leaving the septa behind as Sansa went to speak with her alongside the other girls.

“I made sure your room was prepared over the past few days,” Catelyn said softly as they entered the chamber, while Arya looked around, noting that little had changed.

“The bed is a bit small now,” Arya remarked, glancing around the space.

“Certainly, it’s been seven years… We’ll have it replaced soon,” her mother replied.

“No, it’s not necessary,” Arya said, clearly implying she wouldn’t be staying forever. Catelyn frowned slightly but chose to ignore it, forcing a smile as she turned back to her daughter.

“Well, I’ll wait for you. Let’s sit and do some embroidery together. Your sister will love sharing this moment with you,” she said, as Buri set the luggage down and exchanged a raised-eyebrow glance with Jill, overhearing the conversation.

Arya felt a bit sorry for her mother but shook her head. “Mother, we can do that tomorrow. Today, I just want to lie down for a bit and talk to my brothers,” she said, not wanting to engage in such activities now.

Catelyn, though pursing her lips, nodded, finding the request reasonable. “Of course, you’re right… I’ll see you at dinner, then,” she said, beginning to leave the room, albeit reluctantly.

“Your mother seems to love you. She’s not as bad as I imagined,” Jill commented as the three of them were left alone.

“She loves her children, no doubt, but that love makes her commit atrocities. You’ve seen that darker side of her—you must have noticed it too,” Arya said, looking at the door after her mother had left.

“Yes… these people try to act gently when it suits them, but we saw the way she looked at us, with a certain hatred. Maybe not as blatant as the septa’s, but it was there. She held back to avoid fighting with you. I hope that restraint lasts a year,” Jill replied.

“Anyway, can I have a moment alone? I’ll handle my luggage,” Arya said finally, prompting the guards to leave the room.

Left alone, she began removing her armor, piece by piece, letting it fall to the floor. Now wearing only her underclothes, she moved to her luggage, pulling out a dress. As she slipped it on, she felt lighter without the weight of the armor, even though the eldenmetal, specially crafted, reduced its weight by 80 to 90%.

Wasting no time, Arya lay down on her bed at last. She was back in Winterfell, but deep down, she knew this place was no longer her home. She belonged more to the North. Still, she resolved to make the best of her stay here until she returned to the true North.

‘But my mother certainly won’t make things easy for me and will do everything to make me stay…’ Arya thought. She didn’t know exactly how to feel about her. She undoubtedly loved her mother, but there were things that couldn’t be forgotten.

Arya left her room, carrying a change of clothes for after a bath. “I’m going to bathe in Winterfell’s hot springs,” she said, instructing her guards to accompany her to the springs.

It wasn’t long before a servant appeared in the corridor to meet her. “Lady Arya, I see you’re heading for a bath. Your mother has instructed us to attend to anything you need. Do you require anything?” the servant asked.

Arya nodded. “I want you to fetch Mearin and tell her to join me. She’s among the Articans,” Arya said, wanting her lady-in-waiting. The servant left immediately to carry out her request.

“We’ll wait for you at the door, Princess. No one else will be allowed in,” Jill assured her at the baths after ensuring the area was empty.

“Alright. Besides Mearin, don’t let anyone else enter,” Arya instructed as her royal guards stepped out, closing the door and leaving her alone.

At peace, Arya removed her clothing and sank into the hot waters. A short while later, Mearin arrived.

“Arya…” Mearin murmured.

Arya’s ladies-in-waiting were dear friends she had made in Artica over the years—Mearin and Hilla.

Mearin had been attacked alongside Hilla and Arya in Volantis. Hilla didn’t survive, and since then, Mearin, now her sole lady-in-waiting, had accompanied her. It was a sensitive topic between them, but avenging Hilla by striking the cities of Slaver’s Bay a year ago had been a shared act of closure.

“I want you to stay with me the whole time, Mearin. I’m sure I’ll end up arguing with everyone here,” Arya said, knowing her stay would be challenging if her father didn’t manage things.

“I’ll do that,” Mearin replied, stepping into the water to bathe as well.

“Winterfell is strange. It’s where the king lived, but it feels so warm compared to the North. Even so, Artica is still warmer than Winterfell,” Mearin remarked, looking curiously at the walls.

“Yes. Jon stayed here until he was eight, and coincidentally, I also stayed in this castle until I was eight, before leaving,” Arya said. The conversation turned to childhood memories, and Arya realized that although she spoke of Artica, she had never delved deeply into those memories. Now seemed like the right time to revisit them.

“Wait, horse-face?! You must be joking!” Mearin exclaimed, wide-eyed upon hearing the nickname given by Sansa’s friends—and Sansa herself—when Arya lived here.

“That was a long time ago, so just forget about it,” Arya said, stepping out of the water and grabbing her towel.

Afterward, Arya left the baths dressed in one of the dresses she had acquired in Myr, with Mearin following, wearing a dress Arya had gifted her.

“Where are we going now, Princess?” Jill asked, walking alongside Buri.

“We’re going to the courtyard. I want to talk to Bran,” Arya said, still feeling a twinge of guilt about her brother. Her owl was circling Winterfell, easily locating him. The wolves had gone off to the forest to run.

They stepped out a moment later, drawing the attention of the people working in front of the castle, as Arya walked alongside Mearin and her guards toward the courtyard.

There, they found Bran practicing archery alone. Robb was probably elsewhere, but Bran noticed their approach and couldn’t help but smile at his sister, running immediately to her.

“Arya!” he exclaimed, clearly thrilled to finally talk to her.

“Hello, little brother. I see you’re practicing archery. Mind if I join you?” Arya asked with a cheerful smile.

“Of course, Arya,” he replied, his gaze admiring the guards accompanying his sister.

Bran dreamed of becoming a royal guard, and seeing the Artican royal guards thrilled him. Their impeccable armor and posture caught his attention. He also curiously observed Jill, who wore a helmet but had visible hair. Female royal guards didn’t exist in Westeros, but that rule clearly didn’t apply in Artica.

Then his eyes landed on Mearin, who gave him a friendly smile, leaving him flustered. She was as beautiful as Sansa, with hair even darker red than the Tullys’.

“My brother is embarrassed because of my friend! I didn’t know he was already interested in girls,” Arya teased with a grin, leaving Bran stunned by her boldness.

“That’s not true!” Bran exclaimed, his face turning bright red as Arya’s grin widened and she burst into laughter.

“Alright, alright, little brother. I understand. Mearin is indeed a very beautiful woman. Now, let’s see your archery skills. Maybe I can give you a tip or two,” Arya said confidently, as Bran looked at her skeptically.

“I doubt that, sister. You may have a legendary Valyrian steel sword, but with a bow? I’m not so sure,” he replied, though the rumors about Arya’s feats surfaced in his mind, keeping him from saying more.

“Looks like you haven’t heard about my performance in the Tourney of the Fields. I took third place, competing against adults,” Arya said, showing off.

Bran nodded, finally recalling the event. With that, they moved to the practice area.

Meanwhile, elsewhere.

“My lady, Arya is in the courtyard,” a servant announced as she entered the room where Sansa, her friends, Septa Mordane, and Catelyn were sewing and sipping drinks, discussing Arya.

“She’s in the courtyard? But didn’t she just finish bathing?” Catelyn asked, a bit surprised. She already knew her daughter had gone to the baths and had expected her to come here. Catelyn had instructed everyone in the castle to keep track of Arya’s whereabouts, wanting to ensure she didn’t run off again, though it was unlikely.

“Yes, but she went to see her brother. He’s practicing archery with her,” the servant replied, causing Sansa and the other girls to widen their eyes in shock.

“What?! A lady shouldn’t behave like that, Lady Catelyn. Your daughter has turned into a savage; I warned you!” Septa Mordane said with disdain. Catelyn, still stunned, ignored the comment and stood.

“Let me see this for myself,” Catelyn said, striding through the castle until she reached a balcony overlooking the courtyard. She had heard stories of Arya doing unthinkable things for a lady over the years, but seeing her now, so poised and beautiful, she hoped her daughter might behave—despite the armor and sword.

From there, she saw the two royal guards standing in one corner. With them was a girl in a very elegant dress, her hair an intense red even deeper than Catelyn’s own. It was Mearin, part of the Artican group that had arrived with Arya. Clearly well-treated, she seemed to hold some importance, as evidenced by her place among Arya’s guards.

Below, Catelyn spotted Arya and Bran. Each held a bow, with Arya lifting hers and aiming an arrow, instructing Bran to imitate her. This drew the attention of several people. Even Ser Rodrik approached, while others who had been training stopped to watch.

Arya fired her arrow, hitting the target dead center even from that distance. Bran tried to imitate her with some effort, but his arrow landed in the third ring—far from Arya’s bullseye.

“You need more training and practice, but I believe this stance works better for you. With it, you’ll become an excellent archer,” Arya said.

“I’ll get there, Arya!” Bran replied, his eyes shining with excitement at her encouragement. “Thanks, Arya. You teach better than Robb,” he added with a smile.

“I had good teachers, Bran,” Arya remarked, recalling her lessons in Artica with Ygritte. Back then, the redhead had taught her with the ulterior motive of getting closer to Jon, which she succeeded in, even marrying him and having two princes. But Arya also benefited from those lessons, becoming the skilled archer she was today.

They continued practicing, and Arya glanced up at the balcony. She noticed her father had arrived and smiled at her. Unlike her mother, who was clearly uncomfortable watching Arya practice archery, especially in front of others, the septa beside Sansa looked even more filled with disdain.

Mearin noticed this as well and appeared worried, but Arya murmured as if reading her thoughts: “Let it be. I’ll have to deal with this for a long time, but there’s nothing we can’t endure.”

“If anyone tries to harm you, let me know. I won’t allow it while I’m here. And if necessary, Jon will come and bring Winterfell down,” Arya said firmly to Mearin.

“Of course,” Mearin replied with a nod.

Bran, standing nearby, seemed alarmed by Arya’s words, but she ignored it, focusing on her guards. “I want you to divide yourselves between me and Mearin. She must be protected as well. Although no one would dare lay a hand on me, I won’t tolerate anyone harming her or my mother doing something foolish with that septa,” Arya commanded firmly. The guards nodded without hesitation, understanding her desire to prevent anything akin to what happened in Volantis.

“Well, looks like we’re splitting up, Jill. Try not to cry from missing me,” Buri teased Jill in a playful tone.

“I’ll get some time without looking at your face, so it won’t be a problem. I’ll be with the princess,” Jill replied nonchalantly, shrugging.

“Alright. But you’re sure the girl will attract more attention… which means I’ll have more chances to use my sword against these idiotic southerners,” Buri said, making Arya shake her head. She knew they were joking, but her priority was ensuring everyone’s safety.

“Anyway,” Arya said, placing a hand on her brother’s head. He looked at her, slightly startled, as she ruffled his hair to comfort him. “Shall we go to the godswood?”

“Sure, we can go,” Bran replied cautiously.

Arya felt at peace for a moment and then turned to notice Ser Rodrik watching her from a short distance away. He was observing her, likely studying her as she fired arrows and instructed her brother.

“It’s been a long time, Ser Rodrik. I’m heading to the godswood now, but we’ll have another chance to talk. Is that alright?” she said calmly, knowing he had been waiting to see her.

“Of course, Lady Arya. I see you handle a bow very well. For years, I’ve heard stories about it, and it seems they were true,” Ser Rodrik commented with a friendly smile.

“Indeed, Ser Rodrik. I also have a Valyrian steel sword and am quite skilled with it. Perhaps we can train together at some point,” Arya replied in a serene tone.

Ser Rodrik nodded, watching as she left with Bran, her guards, and Mearin, heading toward the godswood.

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