As soon as the carriage arrived at King's Landing, Arya Stark leaped out and stared with awe at the courtyard of the Red Keep. The weather in the South was much different than the North's, as was everything else. Ned was slower to exit the carriage than Arya with his age. Behind him trailed Margaery Stark, Robb's pregnant wife.

Margaery insisted to travel with Ned's party to King's Landing, wishing to "experience the beauty of the South" before her child was born. Robb agreed, letting his wife and their unborn child travel with his father and his sister to the Capital. Her engagement to Arya's brother was a prosperous one, bringing luck and wealth to both House Tyrell and House Stark. Only having been married for five moons, Margaery was showered with praise for being with child from their wedding night. Margaery was nice enough, as she and Arya rarely spoke. Sometimes, Arya believed Robb even loved his wife, despite their short time together. At least unlike Sansa she didn't make Arya try to become a Lady during her time in Winterfell, dressing her in queer apparel and do boring activities such as embroidering. However, Margaery found somewhat of a sisterhood with Sansa, becoming close in only the few moons they'd known each other, before Sansa was shipped to King's Landing for her own engagement.

Catelyn and Sansa Stark filed out with a few other ladies of court to greet the party. Catelyn and Ned hugged each other as if they hadn't embraced in years rather than only six moon turns. Sansa smiled warmly to her little sister. Her warm auburn hair and Tully face had grown even more beautiful ever since the last they'd seen each other. She wore a pale pink Southern dress and her hair was put up into a birds nest like the rest of the ladies of court. Nonetheless, Sansa seemed genuinely happy to see the face of Arya, much to her dismay. Even Nymeria, Arya's direwolf, eagerly greeted her own sister, Lady, who was nuzzling herself beside the hem of Sansa's dress, despite being a full-grown wolf.

After small talk of how Winterfell fared and how Sansa and Catelyn liked the South, Arya snuck away from the courtyard, wanting to explore the Red Keep with her own eyes. Nymeria seemed to pick up on what she was doing, because the wolf followed Arya's footsteps closely. Between conversations with Margaery, Sansa seemed to notice Arya slowly parting away from the courtyard. Rather than reprimanding her, she only gave her a faint and subtle smile before replying to Margaery. Engagement has seemed to do well to Sansa, Arya thought to herself.

Of course Arya heard stories and tales and myths of the bones of the dragons under the Red Keep, and so of course Arya had to see for herself. Blending with the shadows, Arya snuck deeper into the dungeons, too swift and sneaky for the eyes of the guards. Nymeria padded close in front of her, as if the wolf was leading the way. After treading deep enough and weaving throughout the halls, the air of the underground started to become stale. Wrinkling up her nose, Arya coughed. The noise echoed and resonated throughout the empty dungeon, sending an eerie wave of uneasiness. Bravely remembering her resolve, she took a deep breath and strut forward. It wasn't long until she stared with awe at the great dragon skulls. Her stomach dropped and her eyes widened. The dragon's jaws were taller than Arya herself! Lit up by the torches lining the wall, the skulls seemed to glow and hum with whatever life still in it, as if the magic of the dragon never left this dungeon.

Just as quickly as Arya discovered the bones, Nymeria howled, warning her that an intruder was coming. Without conscious thought, Arya quickly hid beneath the dragon's skull and hauled Nymeria next to her. She held her breath as the door to the hall opened, and Nymeria let out a low growl. Wanting to calm down her Direwolf, Arya stroked Nymeria's grey fur. Hearing her wolf's growl, Arya watched brown boots lurk closer and closer to her hiding spot. Without a warning, a strong hand darted down and grabbed Arya's arm, pulling her out from under the dragon's bones.

"Let me go!" Arya's stomach swelled with pride when she realized her growl was just as scary as her direwolf's. Nymeria matched her owner's anger, and before the wolf could pounce on the intruder, the man let go of her with haste.

The man's ice blue eyes looked over Arya with amazement, and then glazed over Nymeria with caution. "Are you lost?" Questions flowed out of the man's mouth and he looked at Arya with both worry and curiousness. If the man knew she was Arya Stark of Winterfell, he didn't show it.

"I'm not lost." She snapped at the bull-headed boy. "I was just leaving."

"Do you need help navigating your way out of the dungeons? I'll escort you." He insisted as if she was one of those delicate and frail paper dolls that Sansa used to play with as a child.

"I can make my way out of the dungeons just fine on my own." She lied. Honestly, she had no idea where she was going. Arya spun on her heels, and walked to the door that the man came out of. Surely, that was the way out.

"No, you don't." The man called out the obvious. By the sound of his footsteps, she could tell he was following her, and he was trying her patience. With her hand on the knob of the dungeon's door, Arya was ready to exit the hallway and leave the man behind her. Before she could, he dared to laugh at her. "If you go that way, you'll only go deeper into the dungeons."

Her hand stopped cold on the door. Sighing and rolling her eyes, she turned around to look at the man. He had hair at the length of her Brother Robb's, but unlike her brother, it was straight with small strands of the darkest brown falling to his face. He seemed the same age as her eldest brother as well. His blue eyes were taunting her, and he was trying to suppress a smirk. Everything about the man irked Arya. He must be one of the King's Bannermen or something of that sort, she thought to herself. He wore no armor, and only a plain tunic and trousers, dirtied from riding horses, but he wielded a war hammer on his weapons belt. But why would a bannerman wield a war hammer around the castle? Perhaps he's a knight who prefers not to wear his armor? Or mayhaps he's a squire.

Too prideful to agree, she only followed the man as he led her the other way. "So what's a lady doing wearing trousers and going through the dungeons all by herself with a wolf following her?" He walked at her pace next to her and raised an eyebrow questioning her reasons. He really must be thick. She thought, only Stark children have direwolves as companions, and everyone in the Red Keep should be out enough to know that. Even when they were only pups, word and gossip has already spread.

"I wanted to see the dragon bones." She shrugged. "And trousers are more practical than dresses, and I am not a lady."

"If you're not a lady, then what are you doing in the Red Keep? You aren't dressed as a handmaiden or a whore, and you are too pretty to be a prisoner."

She scoffed at the man's would-be compliment. Before she could reply back an equally snarky comment, she sighed and deducted that he must have been jesting with her. "I have my reasons." Not wanting to reveal her identity, she shrugged again.

He opened the final door out of the dungeon, and she was greeted by the familiar light of the castle. It seemed that his route was shorter than her detour down. Facing the man and wanting to seem at least a bit intimidating, she looked him in the eye. She then abhorred her height difference. Compared to him, she was only a small mouse. "You will tell nobody of this."

"I would never betray my lady." The man laughed. Arya frowned and pushed him, not too hard that it would be serious, but just hard enough.

"Do not call me my lady!" She hissed.

"As my lady commands," The man laughed again, thinking that his own words were amusing. Arya pushed him again harder. He fell to the floor this time, but he didn't mind. He was too busy laughing. He gasped between breaths, "Well that was unladylike of you."

Arya groaned and stormed away from the bull-headed man, giving up on him. It wasn't long before one of her father's bannermen found and addressed her.

"Lady Stark, your mother has summoned you. If I may escort you?" Without her agreement, the man started to lead the way to her mother's temporary quarters in the Keep. Arya sighed and readied herself for a string of arguments.

"Arya Stark," Her mother said, fuming, "I let you out of my sight for one second and you disappear! You are nearly six-and ten, and you still act like a child. I have given up on trying to make you a lady long ago, but at least act more controlled. I haven't seen you for six moons, are you are so quick leave." Her mother's expression softened for a moment before quickly returning. "Thank the Gods, Old and The New, that your father's bannerman found you when he did. King Robert is throwing a feast for your father's arrival tonight, and we must get you ready."

Arya sighed, but didn't want to argue further with her mother. They chained Nymeria and Lady in the stables with the horses while a few handmaids scrubbed Arya's skin to the bone, getting every single substance of dirt off her as they could. Roses floated on the rim of her bath water, and Arya watched them dance in the water as the other handmaidens washed her long Stark brown hair. After she was properly bathed, her mother dismissed the handmaids. A dress was chosen for her already specifically for the feast.

"Sansa wanted a dress made for you upon your arrival." Catelyn informed Arya as she helped her get into the gown. "It may not be an exact fit, but they went off Sansa's measurements and only a size smaller."

"Where is Sansa?" Arya asked. Surely, she would've been getting ready with her sister and mother.

"She is with Margaery."

Arya frowned and stared at her reflection in the looking glass. The cloth around her bust was too tight, making it as if she was a whore. The area where her hips should've filled in was baggy, but her mother was quick to pin the fabrics so it looked customly sewn for her size. The dress was a pale blue color with embroidery of golden flowers stitched in, similar to the kind of dresses that Margaery wore. Arya knew her sister meant well, and wanted the dress to be a gift, but that didn't mean Arya had to enjoy it. The bodice was terribly confining, and the pins her mother placed in the dress poked and jabbed at her skin to no end.

After her mother was finished with her dress, she sat her down on the room's vanity and let her long brown hair stay down, with a single braid down the top middle, the way some Northern women prefer. Arya had to admit, she was grateful her mother didn't make her wear her hair the way the Southern women wear it. She then put rouge on her cheeks and lips, much to her disagreement, but her mother didn't care.

"You look beautiful." Her mother smiled and looked at the looking glass with Arya.

"I look like a stranger." She sighed. In her opinion, rouge made her cheeks and lips look too red, as if they were bloodied. The powder applied on her face was too light, making her look too pale, as if she was dying. The dress hugged her uncomfortably, and in all the wrong places. Arya Stark didn't look like Arya Stark. She looked like a wolf being stuffed into a dress and being forced to wear makeup. And that's exactly what she was.

"You look like a true and proper lady of the North." Her mother kissed her forehead.

The feast was just as any other feast Arya Stark was forced to attend; boring. She sat down at a table while ladies and lords of court danced around her. Sansa and Margaery were the most beautiful ladies at the feast of course, socializing with others and dancing as if they were born to. It wasn't long before her father dragged her from her seat and danced with her himself. The music stopped and paused as the royal family made their way to their table. The fat and plump king sat next to his wife, Cersei Baratheon. She looked at everyone coldly as if they were all her enemies. She was beautiful though, in a menacingly seductive way. Despite her age, her long and flowing blonde hair and her face made her look like a siren to some men. Then, their children filed through behind them and sat down in their respectful seats. Tommen Baratheon, the youngest of their children, sat next to his mother. He was perhaps as old as Rickon, but the mother still held her child close as if he was a baby. Still, the boy seemed kind enough. Myrcella Baratheon sat next to her youngest brother, and she shared the beauty of the queen, without the resentment and spite. Already, her baby fat had vanished from her face, and her body was forming to a woman's. The next Baratheon child sat down, with flaxen hair just like the previous three children, except he wore the prideful and cold expression of his mother. With complete astonishment, Arya watched as the last of the Baratheon children sat down. His brown hair and blue eyes were recognizable from a score away. When he sat down, he smirked with satisfaction as he looked upon Arya's face of shock.

It was then, that Arya decided that she hated the heir to the Iron Throne.

Arya's father must've noticed her staring, because he looked between the oldest son of the king, and back to his daughter with curiosity. His face then contorted into amusement, as if he knew what she was thinking. As if she fancied the man. Father, you are far from the truth, Arya thought as she watched Ned Stark give her an all-knowing smile.

"My friends…" The king rose to speak. "Tonight we are celebrating the arrival of Lord Eddard Stark and his family. Let the feast begin, and the drinking never end!" The lords and ladies cheered as the music continued to play, but this time, more upbeat. Arya was traded between multiple lords as dance partners, much to her distaste. Even Renly Baratheon, her sister's betrothed, danced with Arya. He seemed nice and handsome enough, but he almost looked like the spitting image of the heir to the throne, too much alike for comfort. After he danced with Arya, and they talked nicely with each other, he went back to her sister. By the looks of it, he told her a joke, and she and Margaery laughed together as if it was the funniest thing in Westeros.

Cheers were louder as the music makers started to play The Bear and the Maiden Fair as drunken lords sang the lyrics. Just as Arya was about to return to her seat, one of those drunk lords seized her by the waist a little too harshly and pulled her a little too close. His hand trailed too close to her arse for comfort, and before Arya could seethe away from him, a man tapped her shoulder, asking her to dance. She thanked both the Old and The New Gods as she was passed along to him, thinking she was saved, but she only realized after she held his hand and after his arm was wrapped around her waist that it was Gendry Baratheon, the heir to the Iron Throne.

"Oh I'm a maid, and I'm pure and fair, and I'll never dance with a hairy bear!" Arya could even hear the drunk King start to sing along with the rest of the men.

"You knew I was Arya Stark, and yet you didn't tell me you were Gendry Baratheon." She glared at him as he spun her around, and she reluctantly continued to dance without enthusiasm.

"Of course I knew you were Arya Stark. What other lady ventures with a direwolf as a companion, and wears trousers, and is brave enough to explore the dungeons of the Red Keep, other than the famous Arya Stark of Winterfell? I thought my lady knew who I was." Gendry laughed and shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, which it was.

"I told you not to call me my lady," Was all Arya could hiss back in return. That only seemed to make Gendry laugh harder.

"Then she sighed and squealed, and kicked the air! She sang: My bear so fair. And off they went! The bear! The bear!" The men continued to shout as they tried to sing. Even Gendry joined in singing, and Arya decided then, that she hated the song The Bear and the Maiden Fair.

Looking around the feasting room, Arya saw her father and the king laugh amongst each other as what she could guess, reminisced old times, which Arya did not want to know what the king and her father did together when they were young. Sansa was sitting down with Margaery, like a proper lady. Her betrothed seemed to be off drunk and laughing with Loras Tyrell, Margaery's brother. Arya heard that Loras and Renly were close friends, so Loras visited the Red Keep for his friend's wedding. But Arya could see the truth so clearly by only looking at the pair of men laughing together. For the first time in her life, Arya Stark pitied her elder sister.

When the song ended, the king stood from his seat and quieted the crowd. The king was so intoxicated with alcohol that his wife had to help him stand; else he would've doubled over. Arya's father returned to his seat and sat with her mother.

"My old friend, this feast was thrown and put together in haste to welcome you and your family to King's Landing, and to celebrate the betrothal of your daughter and my brother." People cheered, and the King wobbled. Ned looked worried and as if he was contemplating if he should tell the King to sit down before he embarrasses himself and his Kingdom, but thinks better of it. Then, the king laid his eyes on Arya for the first time. His eyes widened with recognition as if he'd seen a mirage. The queen looked to Arya's direction, trying to see what set the king in his frozen state, and when she laid her eyes on herfor the first time, she looked as if she'd seen a ghost. Is it because I was dancing with their eldest son? Arya realized Gendry was still standing close to her, and she stepped away, wanting to put a safe distance between them. But the king and queen didn't stop staring at her. Even Gendry seemed to catch on, and he looked at her oddly, but not knowing why his parents seemed to take a sudden interest in her.

"It is her… Lyanna…" The King gasped. Arya recognized her aunt's name. She looked to her father, and his eyes widened for a second, realizing what's happening. He then quickly stood up and walked towards his youngest daughter as if protecting her.

"Ned," Robert spoke as if he regained his composure. The queen's shoulders finally went down and she breathed out as if she got over the shock like her husband. "Ned, I should've married your sister long ago, but it is not too late. I have a son, you have a daughter. Let us join houses."