Chapter 11: Arya

Author's Note: GUESS WHAT—I'M ALIVE! I'm really sorry it's taken this long because life has been really busy for me these days and I—we—have all had a significant shortage in new Game of Thrones inspirational material to thrive on. Goddamn Winds of Winter though. But, yeah, I may have come up with a few more things to add to this little old story. I felt bad because I had no clue it had managed to gain a following like this… Which means helluva lot bigger than I'd expected.

Sorry (not sorry) about the really short previous chapter and this one. I'm teasing! Haha! Well, anyway, there's good stuff to come, so… Please bear with me and thanks for being with me up to here since day 1.

Arya had not expected to see her brother in closed quarters such a short time after her outburst about her sudden promising to Quentyn—Robb usually left her alone for at least a week or two when she had one of her usual tantrums.

Usual, well. Not exactly. Not this time. It had always been about something small and childish, but this time it was something serious—marriage.

Just thinking about it, Arya's shoulders suddenly felt much, much heavier as she strode inside Robb's personal working quarters. She took a deep breath. Inside, Robb was busy, his face merely inches away from the heavy, battered wooden desk as he pored through some important documents. Arya kept her distance, waiting for her brother to acknowledge her.

"I'm surprised you're not taking this opportunity to cleave my head off with an axe, Arya." Robb spoke, keeping his face down as he continued to go over whatever work it was he was doing at the moment. Arya couldn't help but chuckle.

"I hadn't thought of that. Can we do this again? Let me go out and get an axe." She replied, smiling coyly. Robb stood up straight and let out a roaring, hearty laugh. He then recomposed himself and folded his thick arms across his chest. He looked over Arya with gentle eyes, then let out a sigh as if he was remembering something.

"Oh, you always were my favorite Arya. And aren't you so grown-up now. I feel ancient."

"Gods, stop it Robb. Don't talk like an old man, you're barely out of your teens." Robb laughed. Then he paused, rearranged the parchments on his table and sat down. He gestured for Arya to sit down on the chair opposite him.

"Right—well, down to business it is, Arya."

Arya sat down. She really had no idea what to say and her energy had been sucked out from the things that had happened the previous night and just by thinking about her future predicament. She would be angry, for sure. But that comes later. Right now she was too exhausted.

"Listen, Arya, I'd like to talk to you some more but I'm quite though most likely, I'm the last person you'd like to talk to seeing as I imposed this on you. Arya—you do remember what I'm talking about, yes?" Robb's eyebrows furrowed.

Arya nodded once, folding her arms and crossing her legs.

"Good, good. I thought perhaps you've forgotten since you aren't throwing a mad fit right now, but alright. I'm quite busy, as you, see so I'll make this quick."

Arya nodded again. She couldn't allow herself to hope it was good news coming.

"Quentyn and the other Martells will be here in a week."

And there it was.

With slow and stiff movements, Arya placed her hands across her lap. She raised her head and closed her eyes, letting out a long, and deep breath. She felt something cold and heavy settle in the pit of her empty stomach.

She needed a drink again already.

She'd need it for a whole week straight.

Probably the rest of her life.