[Chapter Size: 3500 Words.]

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Third Person POV

North, 297 AC.

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Arya entered the main hall of Winterfell, where the banquets were held, after spending the rest of the afternoon with Bran in the sacred grove. They had returned to the castle to prepare for the dinner her mother had requested, organized as a celebration. Her mother had prepared a lavish banquet for the evening, as hunters from Wintertown had delivered deer and wild boar from the Wolfswood forest.

The hall was bustling but accommodating to all. Anyone within the castle who wished could join, as there were no other nobles present. Only Wendel Manderly was at the castle, staying for a day before heading south again. He now shared the head table with the lord of Winterfell. Even the Articans were seated among the foremost tables.

Arya entered, immediately drawing attention to herself. Even Sansa looked at her Artican dress with astonished eyes, unable to compare anything to it. Arya wanted to laugh at the girls seated there, envying her, while she spotted Mearin and her guards. Once, they had mocked her, calling her “horse face.” Now, all that remained of those days was pure envy, their eyes practically screaming that they wished to be like her.

Ignoring it, Arya made her way to the main aisle, passing by the tables. Mearin remained with the Articans while a seat awaited Arya at the head table.

Arya took her seat, positioned between her mother and her brother Bran. Jill stood behind Arya’s chair, guarding her in a ready position, prepared for any danger that might approach the Artican princess.

Arya’s parents exchanged a few glances but said nothing. After all, even a king would have his royal guard at his side, making Arya’s status fitting for such protection.

The servants couldn’t stop staring at Arya. After everything they had heard about her—stories of her being taken by the wildlings beyond the Wall—they couldn’t help but observe and wonder if it was true. It hardly seemed that she had spent time in the frozen wilderness dominated by savage tribes. She now commanded the situation around her with ease and spoke with authority, even in the presence of her parents.

Arya was no longer the emotional, chatty, playful eight-year-old who had left Winterfell. While she occasionally smiled when something pleased her, she had become more serious, quick-witted, and sharp in her responses to anything that annoyed her.

Even Sansa’s friends, who once mocked her, now envied her clothes, beauty, and demeanor. They gossiped endlessly about her transformation, and none of them dared to provoke her as they had in the past.

“Eat as much as you like, daughter,” Catelyn said, as Arya nodded, servants bringing her food. Arya tried to ignore Sansa’s lingering gaze, which seemed tinged with jealousy. Arya couldn’t tell if it stemmed from her transformation or the extra attention their mother seemed to be giving her that day.

As they ate, no one spoke at first, their gazes moving from one to another. Bran fixed his eyes on Arya, smiling broadly, while Rickon appeared shy but also stared at his sister as he ate with his small hands. Robb kept his focus on the hall, while their parents seemed overjoyed to see Arya eating with them after so many years. Sansa, however, maintained the same envious expression, and Arya felt tempted to call her foolish for it.

Finally, after a moment, Bran, unable to bear the silence, broke it just as his mother turned her attention from Arya.

“Mother! Did you know Arya went to the other side of the world?” Bran exclaimed, recalling some of the stories his sister had shared with him in the sacred grove that afternoon.

Catelyn stiffened at the remark, her smile fading. She had already spoken with her husband about Arya after her return to the North and Winterfell, demanding to know what her daughter had been through. It had not been an easy conversation, and Catelyn had been deeply unsettled by the stories Ned had shared about Arya’s journey as they escorted her back to the castle.

Now, however, she controlled herself, trying to keep the family united, forcing a strained smile. “So you’ve seen many places in the world. It must have been exciting…” Catelyn said, clearly lying, trying to stay calm and avoid imagining the dangers Arya must have faced. Otherwise, she might have lost her composure entirely. Even Lord Stark had omitted details to avoid an uproar on Arya’s first day back.

Bran smiled, not noticing how forced his mother’s words were, and turned to his father, looking at him as well. “Father, Arya said she found a group of bandits here and had her men capture them. They were defeated easily!” Bran exclaimed cheerfully, while Rickon, beside him, looked on curiously.

Catelyn shuddered once again, but closed her eyes and sighed. Ned also sighed before confirming. “Yes, it’s true. Arya and her men captured a troublesome group that had been kidnapping people from villages and stealing from traders. Their trial will be held tomorrow. I want you to join me, Robb, and, if she wishes, Arya,” he said calmly.

Catelyn immediately turned to him with pure disapproval. “You cannot be serious, Ned! Taking our daughter to a trial? That is no place for a Lady!” she said, her voice cutting through the air and drawing the attention of everyone at the head table.

Wendel, who knew well what had happened, remained silent. Buri, seated at the tables behind Mearin, seemed to enjoy the tension, while the other children looked on curiously. Arya, however, stayed silent, waiting for her father’s response.

“She’s the one who found them and commanded her men. So I think it’s only fair for her to attend,” Ned said calmly. His wife, though visibly dissatisfied, said no more. Bran, still excited after hearing so many stories from his sister, continued chattering.

“Robb, did you know she has direwolves? Direwolves, just like in the old stories of our house, like Jon’s wolf!” he said excitedly.

At the mention of Jon’s name, Catelyn felt a familiar discomfort but stayed silent, controlling herself with deep breaths to calm down.

“Yes, Bran. It’s certainly a magnificent animal; it could even carry Arya,” Robb replied, his tone hard to read as he deliberately ignored the mention of Jon, steering the conversation away from him.

“She said she’d show me tomorrow. Maybe I could ride one!” Bran said eagerly, looking at Arya. However, it was their mother who responded before anyone else.

“No! You are forbidden from going near those beasts!” Catelyn immediately declared, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.

“Don’t call them beasts, Mother. They’ve saved my life more than once, so don’t insult my wolves,” Arya retorted firmly, leaving her mother momentarily speechless.

Arya then turned her gaze to her younger brother. “Bran, direwolves only allow their bonds to ride them. They’re unlikely to let you do so since they’re my wolves, and, in any case, it’s not advisable. But I’ll let you see them tomorrow,” she said calmly.

Arya then spoke again, this time with a serious expression directed at her mother. “And no, Mother, they won’t harm Bran. I give you my word. They are my animals, and I’d like to see them in the courtyard more often. After all, I need to bathe them, and they enjoy it,” she said firmly.

Jill, standing beside Arya, seemed amused by the young princess’s words. She tried to maintain a serious expression but slightly arched her lips, almost smiling. Buri, behind Mearin, noticed this and raised an eyebrow at her, flashing a broader smile, clearly paying close attention to the conversation, as was the rest of the hall, which had fallen silent to hear the discussion at the head table.

“Arya, you cannot be serious. You and your brother cannot be near those creatures. What if they attack Bran?” her mother practically pleaded.

“I don’t think they’ll do that, Cat. The direwolves have been by Arya’s side throughout the journey here, and at no point did they pose any danger to any of the Stark men,” Ned replied, attempting to calm her. “Besides, these creatures are the symbol of our house. If Bran and the other children can bond with the wolves in the future, just as Jon and Arya have, it would be good for them to have some contact with them now. After all, this generation of Starks seems blessed with the animals that symbolize our house…” he said.

“Will we have direwolves too? I want to see them!” Rickon shouted excitedly from the side.

“No, Rickon, I don’t think so…” Bran murmured, looking at Arya with some hope that she might deny it. But there were no direwolves with her that she could give to her brother, though perhaps Jon might provide one in the future.

“Oh, that’s too bad… But I can see the wolf too, right?” Rickon asked, his tone a bit downcast but perking up slightly at the end, still somewhat affected.

Arya nodded, noticing her mother’s disapproving gaze. Catelyn was clearly not pleased with the direction of the conversation.

Arya then looked away to the other side of the table, noticing that Sansa was still staring at her the entire time. By intuition, Arya understood that gaze. Her sister seemed to harbor a mix of fear for the current Arya and jealousy. But Arya gave a small smile before addressing her. She didn’t want conflicts with her sister in the end, as they shared the same blood. Still, she hadn’t expected Sansa to remain so foolish.

“Tell me, what do you want, Sansa? Are you going to keep staring at me with that thoughtful look all night?” Arya asked openly, keeping a small, friendly smile.

Sansa hesitated, shrinking slightly at Arya’s words, but she didn’t lose the chance to ask something that had been intriguing her. “Did you go to Campinas? I heard you were at the tournament.”

Sansa had always dreamed of attending a tournament but never had the opportunity. Knowing her sister had participated awakened genuine curiosity in her. This was her chance to learn more about the events she had always heard about in stories.

Arya sighed with a look of boredom, thinking her sister might still be the same fool. “It’s kind of fun,” Arya replied casually, her tone dull. “It’s like a festival. They organize melee fights, archery contests, and jousts. So, you know… I participated in the archery contest and came in third place. But the winner was an Artican who competed with me. As for the jousts… they’re a bit more traditional. Jon won and, for some reason, made me wear the Queen of Love and Beauty crown, which I didn’t even ask for,” she said calmly.

“Really? Were there many gallant knights?” Sansa asked, ignoring the part about Arya’s participation and Jon, focusing instead on the knights, which interested her more.

Arya noticed that her sister had a disdain for Jon, likely due to the septa’s teachings, and continued. “Many. Quite a few, as far as I noticed, were even quite famous. Renly Baratheon chose his champion, Loras Tyrell, but he fell to Jon’s lance,” Arya responded nonchalantly.

Sansa pressed her lips together at the mention of Jon’s name again. She had wanted to hear about the knights, and learning that Jon had won the tournament was something that bothered her.

Catelyn also seemed uncomfortable but restrained herself from saying anything.

“Jon won? That’s great!” Rickon murmured, excited. Despite his mother’s influence, he had always heard good things about Jon from his father and Bran, knowing he had a brother who was a king of a powerful nation.

“However, in Artican games, jousts are nothing compared to what we can do in the city,” Arya said with a smile.

“Really? What do you do in Artica?” Bran asked, drawing the attention of the table. Even Robb, who had seemed uninterested before, now looked curious, while Catelyn was already trying to steer the conversation away. Arya, however, responded with pride before her mother could speak.

“We have chariot races around the arena, which we call chariot racing. It’s very fun and exciting. First place is usually something very special. It’s like the jousts here, but instead of fighting each other, they race and test their skills in controlling multiple horses with a small cart. It’s much harder to win,” she explained.

Bran and the others around her were surprised, trying to imagine something like that since they had never seen anything similar.

“How interesting! I wish I could’ve seen some of the giants. Why didn’t you bring any? When I saw one, I was very little,” Bran complained.

“Yeah, I’d like to see giants too!” Rickon exclaimed, losing some of his initial shyness.

“They’re in Artica, where their home is… Bran and Rickon,” Arya responded calmly. “I can’t force them to come here, especially when there’s nothing here for them.”

“So… who’s that girl with your royal guard? Is she some kind of noble from Artica or something?” Sansa suddenly asked again, her curiosity returning to Arya and pointing toward Mearin.

Arya followed Sansa’s gaze to Mearin, who noticed her name being mentioned and turned to face them. Arya gave a smile before responding, clearly ready to explain her companion’s presence.

“She’s my lady-in-waiting,” Arya replied with a smile, while her family observed her with mixed thoughts. It was still hard for them to believe Arya was now a princess or something similar.

“But is she a noble? Something like that?” Sansa asked, curious. Clearly interested in meeting other nobility, but she would soon be disappointed by Arya’s response.

Arya quickly shook her head. “No. No one is born noble in Artica. We’re building the kingdom from scratch, but she has a surname, just like everyone in Artica. The concept of nobility applies to officials who manage the kingdom, many of whom are chosen by the people to represent them in the senate that keeps Artica running,” Arya explained, highlighting how Artica followed principles of meritocracy, allowing everyone to claim their own names and symbols freely and to make their mark in military, administrative, or commercial fields.

“Everyone has a name? That’s scandalous!” Septa Mordane murmured from her table, unable to believe that common people could have the chance to ascend to a higher social status.

“Everyone has the right to a name and a family symbol, Septa, and we have no problem with that. Jon is the King of Artica, and he decreed this from the start so that Artica could grow its own wings,” Arya replied calmly, looking at her.

“Of course, it had to be a bastard,” the septa murmured immediately, creating a dark atmosphere in the hall. Her words rang out as the room was unusually silent that night. Arya was the center of attention, and everyone wanted to hear her, leaving a noticeable absence of background chatter.

Everyone swallowed hard, feeling the tension in the air. They knew Jon had an army capable of facing entire kingdoms and that he had defeated the king’s fleet and spared him, sending him back to King’s Landing as a defeated man. Few dared to speak against him in front of the Artican royal guards present.

The septa realized she had spoken too much when she noticed everyone staring at her in silence. Before she could correct herself, the sound of a sword being drawn echoed immediately.

Buri was the first to unsheathe his blade, followed by the guards stationed at the entrance of the hall. Even Jill drew her weapon, startling Catelyn, as Lord Stark rose to his feet at once.

“Say another word like that, and I’ll cut out your tongue, woman,” Buri declared openly, while everyone looked on in terror, seeing him point his sword at the septa.

“I also dare you to repeat that,” Jill added, her tone threatening from behind Arya.

“Order!” Lord Stark shouted immediately to regain control of the situation.

“Father!” Arya called, drawing the attention of her younger siblings, who seemed frightened. “I made it very clear that I won’t tolerate any disrespect toward Jon here, much less toward his royal guards,” Arya said firmly.

The Artican group present also seemed prepared to fight.

Arya turned to the septa before her father could intervene. “You know, I have to admit, you’re quite a brave woman,” she began with a tone of irony, fixing her eyes on the septa. “You mock a king. Someone powerful enough to command thousands upon thousands of men with ships that can dominate cities like the Citadel in mere hours… You know there are rumors that Jon can control animals, don’t you?” she asked calmly.

“Witchcraft,” the septa murmured, though her trembling voice betrayed her nervousness.

“It doesn’t matter what you call it. If you believe it… aren’t you afraid that, suddenly, a rat might crawl into your mouth while you sleep? Or that a bird might swoop down and gouge out your eyes as you walk through the sept?” Arya commented coolly, leaving everyone stunned by her words. It was so terrifying that no one dared to respond, but the most frightened of all was Septa Mordane. She began to entertain the thought, believing Jon to be an evil sorcerer and an enemy of the Seven. Now, fear crept in as she imagined being attacked in such ways.

“They say Jon can control his animals from anywhere, watching whenever he wishes,” Arya continued, her expression shifting to a mocking smile as she spoke threateningly, though her tone suggested she was toying with the woman, amused by the fear in her eyes.

Rumors about Jon being capable of such things were common. After the events at the Citadel, stories circulated that Jon had even cheated during the jousts in Campinas by using such abilities to control his opponents’ horses.

“The Seven will protect me!” the septa exclaimed, attempting to muster courage in the face of Arya.

“The Seven didn’t protect the Citadel. Their septons and maesters fell after threatening Artica,” Arya replied, her calm demeanor unwavering.

Before Arya could continue, her father intervened. “Arya, enough,” he commanded firmly before turning to the septa. “And you! I’ve already said I didn’t want to hear this kind of behavior in this house. Jon is not to be spoken of in such a way… but you persist,” he demanded, his gaze icy as it rested on the septa.

“Father,” Arya called, drawing his attention back to her. “I’ve already said I won’t tolerate this kind of talk here. That’s why I’m leaving the castle. I’ll stay at an inn in Wintertown with my group or camp with my men,” she declared immediately.

“You can’t be serious!” her mother exclaimed, surprised, while her siblings looked equally perplexed.

“I mean it. And I won’t return to Winterfell while this woman is here. If you want me to stay the night at the castle, I demand that she leaves and doesn’t come back while I’m here. Otherwise, I’m leaving,” Arya said with authority, as the entire hall fell silent, all eyes on Lord Stark.

“Arya, you can’t be serious!” Catelyn broke the silence, repeating her earlier words with more horror.

“I’m serious, Mother. That’s it. I’m leaving,” Arya reaffirmed, making it clear her decision was final.

Lord Stark pressed his lips together, weighing his options. He then made his decision, looking at Septa Mordane. “I want you to gather your belongings and leave Winterfell. I’ll ask Vayon to assign some guards to escort you to an inn. You’ll stay there until we decide what to do,” he ordered, his voice laden with authority, leaving everyone stunned.

“Lord Stark, you can’t be serious,” the septa murmured in disbelief, almost pleading. She had been in Winterfell for over 18 years.

“You started this entire mess, Septa. You had already been warned not to speak about these matters, but you insisted. So, between you and my daughter, I’ll obviously choose my daughter,” he declared, ending the discussion.

Robb remained silent, Bran and Rickon looked surprised, while Sansa and Catelyn were horrified. Catelyn, however, preferred to see her daughter at home rather than leaving again, knowing that the current Arya wouldn’t easily obey any command.

“Either way, if she’s leaving, then I’ll stay. I’m going to my room. The meal was very good until now, but I’ve lost my appetite. Thank you anyway; I know your intentions,” Arya said, dismissing her family. She cast a look of disdain at the septa before beginning to leave, her guards sheathing their swords.

Buri slid his blade back into its scabbard and followed alongside Mearin, who rose to accompany Arya and Jill.

——

Raccoon Here:

I will write one more chapter with Arya in Winterfell before moving on to Artica. Her mother and she won’t argue so quickly.

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