Chapter 24 Chapter 23 Arya

His lord father was late at dinner again that day, and Arya could see that he was at odds with the court again.When Ned Stark strode into the "little hall", the first course of dinner, the pot of thick and sweet pumpkin soup, had long been removed from the table.They called it the "Little Hall" to distinguish it from the king's great hall which could hold a thousand people.Having said that, the place is not small, it is a long and narrow room with a tall dome, and two hundred people can be seated on the benches. "My lord," said Jory, when his father entered.He rose, and immediately the rest of the bodyguard rose, all in new cloaks of heavy gray wool trimmed with white satin, with a silver hand embroidered on the folds to mark them as the Hand of the Hand.Since there were only fifty people in total, the benches looked empty.

"Sit down." Eddard Stark said, "I'm glad you are the only ones in this city who still have some common sense, at least you know how to start first." He motioned for everyone to continue eating, and the waiter brought out plates wrapped in garlic and herbs grilled ribs. "My lord, there's talk of a tournament going on outside." Jory sat back in his seat. "I heard that knights from all over the country will come to fight for your honor and celebrate your appointment." Arya could see her father wasn't too happy about it. "Why don't they say that's the last thing I want to see?"

Sansa's eyes were as big as plates. "Tournament." She took a breath.She sat between Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, as far away from Arya as possible without calling her father's attention. "Father, can we go?" "Sansa, you know how I feel about this. This stupid thing is clearly Robert's own idea. I'll help him organize it and pretend to be flattered, but that doesn't mean I have to take my daughter to it." "Oh, please," Sansa said, "I'd love to go." Sister Mordane said: "My lord, Princess Messai will also be present at that time, and she is younger than Miss Sansa. All the ladies in the court should attend this kind of grand event. What's more, this tournament will be attended by you If your family members are not present, it may be inappropriate."

Father looked pained. "I suppose so. Well, Sansa, I'll get you a seat." He looked at Arya. "Get a seat for both of you." "I'm not interested in some silly tourney," Arya said.She knew Prince Joffrey would be there, and she hated him to death. Sansa raised her head and said: "This will be an unprecedented celebration. No one expected you to participate." My father was furious when he heard this. "That's enough, Sansa. Go ahead and watch out for me changing my mind. I'm sick of the endless bickering you two are having. You're sisters anyway, and I want you to love each other like sisters, you know. Is it?"

Sansa bit her lip and nodded, and Arya stared down at the plate in displeasure, feeling the tears stung her eyes.She wiped away tears angrily, determined not to cry. There was only the sound of knives and forks touching. "I'm sorry," my father said to the whole table, "I don't have much appetite tonight." He walked out of the small hall. Immediately after he left, Sansa whispered excitedly to Jenny Poole.Jory, who was sitting at the other end of the long table, was talking and laughing, and Hullen also began to talk about horse scriptures. "Let me tell you, that war horse of yours is really not the best choice for a contest. It's completely different from ordinary riding, understand? It's completely different." Others have heard this set of words a long time ago, Desmond, Jax Harwin, Hullen's son, told him to shut up, and Porter called for more wine.

But no one spoke to Arya.She didn't really care, she kind of liked it.If the adults didn't allow it, she would rather hide in the bedroom and eat.She could get her way when her father dined with the king, or lord so-and-so, or such-and-such ambassador.But most of the time, she dined with her father and sister in the prime minister's study.At times like this, Arya misses her brothers most.She wanted to make fun of Bran, and play with little Rickon, and make Robb smile at her.She wanted Jon to mess up her hair, call her "my little sister," and say a word with her.She had only Sansa for company now, but Sansa would never speak to her unless her father forced her to.

At Winterfell they used to dine in the Great Hall.Father always said that a lord must eat with his subordinates in order to keep their hearts. "Not only do you have to know your men," she heard her father say to Robb once, "but they also have to know you. Don't try to make your men work for someone they don't know." In Winterfell In the city, he always reserved a special seat at his table and invited different people every night.If Vayon Poole was called, it was about finances, provisions, and servants.Next time it was Mikken, my father would listen to him analyze armor and swords, and explain the heat of the blast furnace when steel and iron were made.Sometimes it was Hullen with his endless talk about the horses, or Septon Chayle from the library, or Jory, or Ser Rodrik, or even Old Nan with the best stories.

Arya loved best of all sitting at her father's table and listening to them, and she loved listening to the people on the benches below: the gritty freeriders, the courteous grown knights, the unabashed young squires, the weather-beaten squires. Battle Veteran.She used to throw snowballs at them, or bring them pies from the kitchen.Their wives would feed her scones, and she would name their babies, and play Beauty and the Monster, treasure hunts, and castle games with their children.Fat Tom used to call her "Arya the Trickster," because he said she was always running around.She liked the nickname far more than "Arya the Horseface".

It's a pity that it all happened in Winterfell, as if it was another world, and everything has changed now.It was the first time they had dined with their servants since they arrived in King's Landing, and Arya hated the arrangement.She hated the sound of other people's voices, the way they laughed, the stories they told.They had been her friends, she had felt safe in their company, and now she knew it was all fake.They stood by and let the queen kill the lady, which was bad enough, before the Hound caught Mycah.Jenny Poole told Arya that he had chopped up Mycah so much that the body had to be bagged and returned to the butcher, who at first thought it contained freshly killed pigs.No one questioned this or drew their swords to help, nothing, whether it was Harwin who was the most bragging about his bravery, Erin who aspired to be a knight, or Jory who was the captain of the guard, not even his father stepped forward to stop him. .

"He's my friend," Arya whispered into the plate, too low for anyone to hear.Her ribs lay on the plate, unmoved, cold, with a layer of grease between the plate and the meat.Arya pushed back her chair and stood up, feeling more and more disgusted. "Wait, miss, where are you going?" Septa Mordane asked. "I'm not hungry." Arya remembered decorum. "Excuse me, can I take my leave first?" She recited stiffly. "Not yet," said the nun, "you have hardly eaten anything, please sit down and clean your plate first." "Clear it yourself!" Arya ran towards the door before people could react.The others laughed, and Septa Mordane called after her, louder and louder.

Fat Tom was at his post, responsible for guarding the door to the Prime Minister's Tower.He blinked at the sight of Arya rushing towards him, and at the sound of the nun's shout behind him. "Yohoo, baby, don't run around." Just as he opened his mouth, and was about to reach out to stop him, Arya passed through his crotch and ran up the winding stairs of the tower.Her feet thumped on the stone steps, and Fat Tom followed, panting. In King's Landing, the only place Arya likes is her bedroom, especially the heavy door made of dark oak and inlaid with black iron rings.She had only to slam the door and drop the heavy latch, and no one could get in.Septa Mordane, Fat Tom, Sansa, Jory, and Dead Hound, none of them, none of them!Now she slammed the door down. When the latch was in place, Arya finally felt free to cry. She went to the window and sat down, sniffing her nose and hating everyone, especially herself.Everything is her fault, everything happened because of her.Sansa said it, and Jenny said it too. Fat Tom is knocking on the door. "What's the matter, little Arya?" he cried. "Are you in there?" "No!" she yelled back.The knocking stopped, and a moment later she heard him walking away.Fat Tom was always easy to cheat. Arya dragged out the box at the foot of the bed, knelt down, lifted the lid, and with both hands began to throw her clothes out, throwing her hands full of silk, satin, velvet, and wool on the floor.The thing was hidden at the bottom of the chest, and Arya picked it up gently and drew the scabbard. sewing needle. She thought of Mikay, and tears welled up in her eyes.It was her fault, her fault, her fault.If she hadn't asked him to practice swords with her... There was a louder knock on the door. "Arya Stark, open the door for me at once, do you hear me?" Arya turned sharply, 'Needle' clutched tightly in her hand. "Don't come in!" She warned, slashing wildly at the air. "I'll let the Prime Minister know about it!" Septa Mordane yelled. "I don't care," Arya screamed. "Go away." "Miss, I assure you, you will regret your rough behavior." Arya listened at the door until she heard the nun's footsteps fading away. She went back to the window, 'Needle' in hand, and looked towards the courtyard below.If only she could climb up and down like Bran, she thought, then she could climb out of the window, down the tower, out of this shitty place, away from Sansa and Septa Mordane and Prince Joffrey, Get away from everyone.Steal some food from the kitchen, bring a sewing needle, good boots, and a warm cloak.She could find Nymeria in the woods below the Trident, and they could go back to Winterfell together, or run to Jon on the Wall.She found herself wishing Jon was here with her now, so she wouldn't feel so alone. A soft knock on the door brought Arya back from her dream of escape to reality. "Arya," my father called, "open the door, we need to talk." Arya crossed the room, raising the latch.I saw my father standing outside the door alone, not so much angry as sad.This made Arya even more sad. "May I come in?" Arya nodded, looking down in shame.Father closes the door. "Whose sword is that?" "Mine." Arya forgot that the Needle was still in her hand. "Give me." Arya reluctantly handed over the sword, wondering if she would ever get the chance to hold it again.Father turned it over and over again by the light, inspecting both sides of the blade, and measured the sharpness with his thumb. "It is the sword of a slayer," he said, "but I seem to recognize the mark of the maker. It was Mikken's." Arya knew she couldn't fool him, so she bowed her head. Lord Eddard Stark sighed: "My nine-year-old daughter got the weapons from my own weapons furnace, and I didn't know it. The job of the Prime Minister is to manage the Seven Kingdoms, and I even manage my own family." No. Arya, how did you get this sword? Where did you get it?" Arya bit her lip and said nothing.She would never betray Jon, not even to her lord father. After a while, my father said, "Actually, it doesn't matter whether you say it or not." He lowered his head and looked at the sword in his hand seriously. "This is no child's toy, especially a girl. What would Septa Mordane say if she knew you were playing with a sword?" "I'm not playing with swords," Arya insisted. "And I hate Septa Mordane." "Enough is enough," my father said sternly and firmly. "The nun was just doing her job, and God knows how much you've put the poor woman through. Your mother and I asked her to teach you to be a lady. It's an impossible task." "I don't want to be a lady!" Arya snapped. "I should just break this thing on my knees right now and stop this shit." "'Needles' won't break." Arya said unconvinced, but she knew her tone was quite guilty. "And it has a name?" the father sighed. "Ah, Arya, my boy, you have a peculiar wildness about you, which your grandfather called 'the blood of the wolf.' Lyanna had a little of it, and my brother Brandon more so, and both died young." Arya could hear the sadness in his voice, and he said little about his father and siblings, who died before she was born. "If your grandfather had agreed back then, Lyanna would probably have wielded swords and swords. Sometimes when I see you, I think of her. You even look a bit like her." "Lyanna is a great beauty." Arya said in astonishment.Everyone says that, but no one ever describes her as Arya. "Isn't it?" Eddard Stark agreed. "She was beautiful and self-willed, and she turned out to be unlucky." He held his sword between them. "Arya, what do you want this... 'Needle' for? Who do you want it against? Your sister? Septa Mordane? Do you know what the first step in the sword is?" All she could think about was what Jon had taught her. "Pierce the enemy with the pointed end," she blurted out. Father couldn't help laughing. "I think this is indeed the essence of swordsmanship." Arya tried desperately to explain, to make him understand. "I want to study hard, but..." Tears filled her eyes. "I want Mikay to practice with me." All the grief came to her heart at the same time, and she turned her head away trembling. "I was the one who looked for him." She cried, "It's all my fault, it's me..." Suddenly, her father's arms wrapped around her, and she turned her head, weeping into his chest, while he held her tenderly. "Don't, my dear child," he whispered. "Mourn your friend, but don't blame yourself. You did not kill the butcher boy. It is the Hound and his cruel mistress who are responsible for this murder. " "I hate them," said Arya, blushing, sniffing. "I hate the Hound, I hate the queen, I hate the king, and Prince Joffrey. I hate them all. Joffrey lied, and things are never what he says they are. I hate Sansa too, she remembers, she Telling lies on purpose to get Joffrey to like her." "Who hasn't told a lie," said the father, "do you think I believe Nymeria will really run away?" Arya blushed guiltily. "Jory promised me not to tell." "Jorie is very trustworthy." His father smiled, "I know some things without being told. Even a blind man can see that little wolf will not leave you automatically." "We threw a lot of stones to drive her away," she said with a sad face. "I told her to go, set her free, and said I didn't want her anymore. She should go and play with other wolves. We heard many wolves howling. Jory said there was plenty of game in the woods, and she could go after wild deer, but she followed us, and we had to throw stones at her at last. I hit her twice, and she wailed and looked at me, and I felt good Shame, but it's the right thing to do, isn't it? Otherwise the queen will kill her." "You're right," said Father, "sometimes a lie can ... honor." He had put Needle aside as he leaned in to hug Arya, and now he picked up the short Jian, walked to the window.He stopped there for a moment, looking across the square and into the distance.When he turned around, his eyes were full of thoughts.He sat down by the window and laid the "Needle" flat on his lap. "Arya, sit down. There's something I need to try to explain to you." She sat down on the edge of the bed uneasily. "You are too young to share all my worries," he told her, "but you are a Stark at Winterfell, and you know our tongue." "Winter is coming," Arya said softly. "Yes, hard and cruel times are coming," said the father. "We tasted it on the Trident, boy, and when Bran fell. You were born of the long summer, my dear boy. , have not yet experienced other seasons, but now winter is really coming. Arya, whenever and wherever, I want you to remember our family coat of arms." "The direwolf," she said, thinking of Nymeria, and she drew her knees and leaned against her chest, terrified. "Son, let me tell you an anecdote about wolves. When the snow falls and the wind blows, the lone wolf dies and the pack lives. In summer we can quarrel, but in winter we must defend each other and keep each other warm, Shared power. So if you want to hate, Arya, hate those who would really hurt us. Septa Mordane is a good woman, and Sansa... Sansa is your sister after all. You two may have Worlds apart, but ultimately the same blood. You need her, and she needs you...and I need you both, God bless." He sounded so weary, and it made Arya sore. "I don't hate Sansa," she told him, "not really hate her." That was at least partly true. "I didn't mean to scare you, but I didn't mean to lie to you either. Child, we've come to a dark and dangerous place, and this is not Winterfell. There are too many enemies who want to kill us, and we can't kill each other. You are in your hometown The willful behavior, all kinds of anger, running around and disobedience... are all the tricks of children in summer. Here and now, winter is coming soon, and it can't be compared with the past. Now, it's time for you to grow up It's time." "I will," Arya swore.She had never loved him so much as she did now. "I'll be strong too, as strong as Robb." He handed her the Needle, hilt forward. "Take it." She stared at the sword in surprise, and didn't dare to touch it for a long time, for fear that the sword would be taken away if she stretched out her hand.She only heard her father say, "Take it, this is yours." Then she stretched out her hand to take it. "Can I keep it?" she asked. "Really?" "Really." He smiled. "If I take it away, I'm afraid I'll find a meteor hammer under your pillow within two weeks. Forget it, no matter how angry you are, just don't stab your sister with a sword." "I won't, I promise I won't." Arya held Needle tightly to her chest, watching her father leave. At breakfast the next day, she apologized to Septa Mordane and asked for forgiveness.The nun looked at her suspiciously, but the father nodded. Three days later, at noon, her father's steward, Vayon Poole, took Arya to the little hall.The dining table had been removed, the benches had been pushed back against the wall, and the small hall was empty.Suddenly, a strange voice said: "Boy, you are late." Then a bald man with a thin figure and a hooked nose came out from the shadows, holding a pair of thin wooden swords in his hands. "You must be here at noon from tomorrow," he said in an accent that sounded like the Free Cities' voice, Braavos, or Myr. "Who are you?" Arya asked. "I am your dance teacher." He threw her a wooden sword.She reached for it, but missed it, and it fell to the ground with a clatter. "From tomorrow onwards you'll catch me if I drop it. Pick it up now." It wasn't just a stick, but it was really a wooden sword, with a hilt, a gauntlet, and a ball that adorned the hilt.Arya picked it up, clasping her hands nervously in front of her.This sword is heavier than it looks, much heavier than "Needle". The bald man bared his teeth and said, "No, boy. This is not a giant sword wielded with both hands. You are only allowed to hold it with one hand." "too heavy".Arya said. "It works your arm muscles, and your overall coordination. The hollow part is filled with lead, and that's it. You hold the sword in one hand." Arya put down her right hand holding the sword, wiped the sweat from her palm on her trousers, and held the sword with her left instead.And he seemed quite content with that. "The left hand is the best. Your enemies will not be used to it if you turn left and right. But your standing posture is wrong, don't face me, turn your body sideways, yes, that's it. You are as thin as a spear, you know? That's good, too, because the target is smaller. Now let me see how you hold it." He leaned in, stared at her hand, spread the fingers apart, and readjusted. "Yes, that's it. Don't push too hard, yes, but be flexible and graceful." "What if the sword drops?" Arya asked. "The sword must become one with your hand," the bald man told her. "Will your hand fall? Of course not. Syrio Forel was chief swordsman under the Sea King of Braavos for nine years, He knows these things. Listen to him, boy." This was the third time he had called her "boy". "I'm a girl," Arya protested. "Men or women," said Syrio Forel, "you're a sword, that's enough." He grinned again, "Okay, that's it, keep this grip. Remember, you It's not a tomahawk you're holding—" "—Needle," Arya finished for him fiercely. "That's it. Now we dance. Remember, boy, we don't learn the Westeros dance of steel, the dance of knights, slashing, no. It's the dance of the killer, the dance of water, the action Quick, unexpected. People are made of water, you know? When you stab a human body and the water leaks out, the person dies." He took a step back and raised his wooden sword. "Now try hitting me." So Arya tries to attack him.She tried for four hours, until every inch of her muscle ached, and Syrio Forel just grinned and corrected. On the second day, the good show just started.