Arya is eating some bullshit dinner in the Small Hall (which is ironically quite large) with all these bullshit members of the Stark party that came down to Winterfell and her bullshit sister. Jeyne Poole is even there. Yeah. Arya hates them all and just wants to run around and stab things. Especially Joffrey. Fuck that guy.
Finally, her dad Ned arrives.
Ned: Ugh, what a long day with that goddamn King's Small Council. That thing is the worst.
Jory Cassel: Hey Ned! Sorry we started dinner without you. We were hungry as hell. Hey man, are you psyched about this awesome Hand's Tournament that's being planned in your honor? Everyone is talking about it!
Ned: Shit Jory, you had to bring up that shit? And why is everyone calling it the Hand's Tournament? I'm the Hand and I don't even want that shit. Maybe people should start talking about that.
Sansa: Oh! A tournament! It sounds like so much fun. Can I go daddy, can I?
Ned: Fuck no. That's some violent bullshit that my children do not need to see. And by that I mean my girl children, since I was totally okay with Bran watching a beheading in Chapter 1.
Septa Mordane: Ned, the tournament will be held in your honor. It would be quite odd if your family was not there. Sansa and Arya are old enough to view it.
Ned: Ugh, fine.
Arya: I don't want to go to a stupid tournament. Joffrey will be there and I fucking hate him.
Sansa: Good. They probably don't want you at the tournament anyway. It will be better without you.
Ned stands up and starts shouting at his insolent little children.
Ned: I swear to the old gods, if you two little shits don't calm the fuck down and get along, I will sell you both to Tyroshi slavers myself. Or just slice your damn heads off with Ice.
Ned takes a breath and regains his composure.
Ned: You know what? I seem to not even have an appetite. I think I'll excuse myself for the evening.
He leaves. Everyone goes back to talking about the tournament, which Arya thinks is bullshit. All these people talk about being honorable and knightly. Arya used to believe them. But what did any of them do when Joffrey wanted to have Nymeria killed or when the Hound killed Mycah? What did anyone do when Lady was killed? Not a damn thing. Arya looks at her cold food and pushes it away.
Arya: I'm out too. Peace, bitches.
She rolls out.
Septa Mordane: Arya! You didn't touch your food! You get back here right now!
Arya just flips her the bird and runs.
Arya reaches her room and slams the door behind her, latching it shut. She hates everything about Kings Landing and her new place at the Red Keep - except for this awesome-ass latch on the door. Nobody can get through that latch. It's the best.
One of the guards knocks and knocks at the door.
Guard: Arya! Open this door now! Are you in there?
Arya: Uhh... no?
Guard: Oh, okay then.
The guard leaves.
Arya goes to her chest and digs through it, finally pulling out Needle.
Arya: Yeah, I'm going to fuck some people up with this shit. If only I could climb like Bran, I could escape from here and steal food and live on my own. Just me travelling around and having zany adventures on the road. Maybe making friends and getting up to hi-jinx. This sounds like an excellent way to spend the next couple of books. I wish my brother Jon was with me though. He'd be a cool travel buddy.
There is another knock at the door.
Ned: Arya? Arya? Come on now. Open up.
Arya hears from his voice that he's not angry. He's just sad. She goes to open the door.
Ned: Arya, what am I going to do with you? Sometimes I feel like---WHOA, what the hell is that in your hand?
Arya realizes that she was a total dumbass and still had Needle in her hand when she opened the door. She was so excited swinging it around that she forgot she even had it.
Arya: Uhh... nothing?
Ned: Who did you steal that from?
Arya: No one! (ha) It's mine!
Ned grabs it and inspects it closer.
Ned: Hrmmm, clearly the work of Mikken. A very fine blade. Just how in the hell am I having swords made in my own forge and don't even know about it? For my own daughter!
He sits down, exacerbated.
Ned: Who gave you this sword? Tell me now!
Arya: Snitches get stitches. That's the Winterfell way. Straight hood.
Ned: Good, that was a test and you passed. But you know this isn't a play thing, right? I should break this sword over my damn knee.
Arya: I know it's not a play thing. I wasn't playing. I'm training. And Needle won't break. The sword is hella strong.
Ned: Hahahaha, Needle? So the sword has a name? You know... you remind me of my sister Lyanna more and more. She would have had a sword if father let her. You act just like her. You even look like her.
Arya: Whaaaaat? But everyone said Lyanna was beautiful.
Ned: Yeah, she was. So I hope that helps you with your self-confidence issues. But would you even know what to do with this sword?
Arya: Uhhh... stick 'em with the pointy end?
Ned: Hrm, okay. I guess you do know what to do.
Arya then starts sobbing.
Arya: I made Mycah play with me! I wanted to train! It's my fault he's dead!
She falls into her father's arm, crying even harder.
Ned: No, it's not your fault.
Arya: I hate them, daddy! I hate them all! I hate the Queen, I hate the Hound, I hate Joffrey, and I hate the King! Joffrey lied! And Sansa lied too! She knew what happened.
Ned: Yes, we all lie. But sometimes lying can be good. Like how you lied about Nymeria running away.
Arya looks up as if she had been caught red-handed.
Arya: What? Did that punk ass Jory sell me out?
Ned: Please, he didn't need to. I know Nymeria would never run away on her own. She loves you too much. You obviously had to do something to protect her from the Queen. To make her leave. I know how much that must have hurt you.
Arya: I had to throw rocks at her. She still kept coming back though. It was so hard. I miss Nymeria so much!
Ned: Right, and you lied and said she ran away. To protect her. You did the right thing. Winter is coming, Arya. We need to stick together. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.
Arya: That's some deep shit. I think I'll remember that and bring it up again in Season 7 of the TV show.
Ned: What I mean is we Starks need to stick together. You can't stay angry at your sister. We have so many real enemies down here - we can't become enemies with each other. So pretty please with sugar on top, don't stab Sansa.
Arya: I'll... try not to.
Three days later... Arya is hanging out in her room.
Vayon Poole: Oh hey Arya, you need to go to the Small Hall for some vague reason I won't explain.
Arya: Sure. Whatever.
She goes. When she gets there, instead of finding all the rest of the Stark party she finds that all the dinner tables have been pushed to the side and it's wide open. There is only one other person there - some bald guy. Or you can imagine that he has an epic afro like in the TV show, whatever works for you.
Syrio Forel: Whattup girl? I'm your "dance instructor."
Arya: Ugh, I don't want to learn to dance. That's some bullshit Sansa stuff.
Syrio: No, did you not see those dangling quotes around the words "dance instructor?" It's a euphemism. I used to be the First Sword of Braavos. The finest swordsman and protector of the Sealord. Your dad sent me here to teach you how to sword fight.
Arya: OH SHIT! My dad is the best ever.
Syrio throws a wooden sword at her. She misses it. She goes to pick it up. It's heavy.
Arya: Ugh. This is heavy.
See?
Syrio: I will train you. And tomorrow you will catch it! Now fix your grip, boy! Not so tight.
Arya: But what if I drop it?
Syrio: The sword must become like it is part of your arm. How could you drop your own arm?
Arya: I dunno. Industrial accident or something?
Syrio: Don't sass me, boy.
Arya: Why do you keep calling me boy? I'm a girl!
Syrio: What does it matter? You are a sword! A sword doesn't have a gender!
Arya: Oh, just like how dragons don't have gender in high Valyrian?
Syrio: That's knowledge you're not supposed to know anything about as a nine year old girl. Besides, you're getting several books ahead of the story now. That's some A Feast for Crows shit there. Let's have other characters like Aemon get to that at a much later point. Now let us fight! And by that I am not referring to that hack and slash shit that you people do here in Westeros. I'm going to teach you the awesome fighting skills of Braavos... the Water Dance!
Arya: Okay, so now that whole "dancing instructor" thing makes more sense. All I needed was some additional context.
Syrio: Oh, I will beat your ass sore these next couple of weeks, boy.
Finally, her dad Ned arrives.
Ned: Ugh, what a long day with that goddamn King's Small Council. That thing is the worst.
Jory Cassel: Hey Ned! Sorry we started dinner without you. We were hungry as hell. Hey man, are you psyched about this awesome Hand's Tournament that's being planned in your honor? Everyone is talking about it!
Ned: Shit Jory, you had to bring up that shit? And why is everyone calling it the Hand's Tournament? I'm the Hand and I don't even want that shit. Maybe people should start talking about that.
Sansa: Oh! A tournament! It sounds like so much fun. Can I go daddy, can I?
Ned: Fuck no. That's some violent bullshit that my children do not need to see. And by that I mean my girl children, since I was totally okay with Bran watching a beheading in Chapter 1.
Septa Mordane: Ned, the tournament will be held in your honor. It would be quite odd if your family was not there. Sansa and Arya are old enough to view it.
Ned: Ugh, fine.
Arya: I don't want to go to a stupid tournament. Joffrey will be there and I fucking hate him.
Sansa: Good. They probably don't want you at the tournament anyway. It will be better without you.
Ned stands up and starts shouting at his insolent little children.
Ned: I swear to the old gods, if you two little shits don't calm the fuck down and get along, I will sell you both to Tyroshi slavers myself. Or just slice your damn heads off with Ice.
Ned takes a breath and regains his composure.
Ned: You know what? I seem to not even have an appetite. I think I'll excuse myself for the evening.
He leaves. Everyone goes back to talking about the tournament, which Arya thinks is bullshit. All these people talk about being honorable and knightly. Arya used to believe them. But what did any of them do when Joffrey wanted to have Nymeria killed or when the Hound killed Mycah? What did anyone do when Lady was killed? Not a damn thing. Arya looks at her cold food and pushes it away.
Arya: I'm out too. Peace, bitches.
She rolls out.
Septa Mordane: Arya! You didn't touch your food! You get back here right now!
Arya just flips her the bird and runs.
Arya reaches her room and slams the door behind her, latching it shut. She hates everything about Kings Landing and her new place at the Red Keep - except for this awesome-ass latch on the door. Nobody can get through that latch. It's the best.
One of the guards knocks and knocks at the door.
Guard: Arya! Open this door now! Are you in there?
Arya: Uhh... no?
Guard: Oh, okay then.
The guard leaves.
Arya goes to her chest and digs through it, finally pulling out Needle.
Arya: Yeah, I'm going to fuck some people up with this shit. If only I could climb like Bran, I could escape from here and steal food and live on my own. Just me travelling around and having zany adventures on the road. Maybe making friends and getting up to hi-jinx. This sounds like an excellent way to spend the next couple of books. I wish my brother Jon was with me though. He'd be a cool travel buddy.
There is another knock at the door.
Ned: Arya? Arya? Come on now. Open up.
Arya hears from his voice that he's not angry. He's just sad. She goes to open the door.
Ned: Arya, what am I going to do with you? Sometimes I feel like---WHOA, what the hell is that in your hand?
Arya realizes that she was a total dumbass and still had Needle in her hand when she opened the door. She was so excited swinging it around that she forgot she even had it.
Arya: Uhh... nothing?
Ned: Who did you steal that from?
Arya: No one! (ha) It's mine!
Ned grabs it and inspects it closer.
Ned: Hrmmm, clearly the work of Mikken. A very fine blade. Just how in the hell am I having swords made in my own forge and don't even know about it? For my own daughter!
He sits down, exacerbated.
Ned: Who gave you this sword? Tell me now!
Arya: Snitches get stitches. That's the Winterfell way. Straight hood.
Ned: Good, that was a test and you passed. But you know this isn't a play thing, right? I should break this sword over my damn knee.
Arya: I know it's not a play thing. I wasn't playing. I'm training. And Needle won't break. The sword is hella strong.
Ned: Hahahaha, Needle? So the sword has a name? You know... you remind me of my sister Lyanna more and more. She would have had a sword if father let her. You act just like her. You even look like her.
Arya: Whaaaaat? But everyone said Lyanna was beautiful.
Ned: Yeah, she was. So I hope that helps you with your self-confidence issues. But would you even know what to do with this sword?
Arya: Uhhh... stick 'em with the pointy end?
Ned: Hrm, okay. I guess you do know what to do.
Arya then starts sobbing.
Arya: I made Mycah play with me! I wanted to train! It's my fault he's dead!
She falls into her father's arm, crying even harder.
Ned: No, it's not your fault.
Arya: I hate them, daddy! I hate them all! I hate the Queen, I hate the Hound, I hate Joffrey, and I hate the King! Joffrey lied! And Sansa lied too! She knew what happened.
Ned: Yes, we all lie. But sometimes lying can be good. Like how you lied about Nymeria running away.
Arya looks up as if she had been caught red-handed.
Arya: What? Did that punk ass Jory sell me out?
Ned: Please, he didn't need to. I know Nymeria would never run away on her own. She loves you too much. You obviously had to do something to protect her from the Queen. To make her leave. I know how much that must have hurt you.
Arya: I had to throw rocks at her. She still kept coming back though. It was so hard. I miss Nymeria so much!
Ned: Right, and you lied and said she ran away. To protect her. You did the right thing. Winter is coming, Arya. We need to stick together. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.
Arya: That's some deep shit. I think I'll remember that and bring it up again in Season 7 of the TV show.
Ned: What I mean is we Starks need to stick together. You can't stay angry at your sister. We have so many real enemies down here - we can't become enemies with each other. So pretty please with sugar on top, don't stab Sansa.
Arya: I'll... try not to.
Three days later... Arya is hanging out in her room.
Vayon Poole: Oh hey Arya, you need to go to the Small Hall for some vague reason I won't explain.
Arya: Sure. Whatever.
She goes. When she gets there, instead of finding all the rest of the Stark party she finds that all the dinner tables have been pushed to the side and it's wide open. There is only one other person there - some bald guy. Or you can imagine that he has an epic afro like in the TV show, whatever works for you.
Syrio Forel: Whattup girl? I'm your "dance instructor."
Arya: Ugh, I don't want to learn to dance. That's some bullshit Sansa stuff.
Syrio: No, did you not see those dangling quotes around the words "dance instructor?" It's a euphemism. I used to be the First Sword of Braavos. The finest swordsman and protector of the Sealord. Your dad sent me here to teach you how to sword fight.
Arya: OH SHIT! My dad is the best ever.
Syrio throws a wooden sword at her. She misses it. She goes to pick it up. It's heavy.
Arya: Ugh. This is heavy.
See?
Syrio: I will train you. And tomorrow you will catch it! Now fix your grip, boy! Not so tight.
Arya: But what if I drop it?
Syrio: The sword must become like it is part of your arm. How could you drop your own arm?
Arya: I dunno. Industrial accident or something?
Syrio: Don't sass me, boy.
Arya: Why do you keep calling me boy? I'm a girl!
Syrio: What does it matter? You are a sword! A sword doesn't have a gender!
Arya: Oh, just like how dragons don't have gender in high Valyrian?
Syrio: That's knowledge you're not supposed to know anything about as a nine year old girl. Besides, you're getting several books ahead of the story now. That's some A Feast for Crows shit there. Let's have other characters like Aemon get to that at a much later point. Now let us fight! And by that I am not referring to that hack and slash shit that you people do here in Westeros. I'm going to teach you the awesome fighting skills of Braavos... the Water Dance!
Arya: Okay, so now that whole "dancing instructor" thing makes more sense. All I needed was some additional context.
Syrio: Oh, I will beat your ass sore these next couple of weeks, boy.
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