Arya Stark

Daughter to a murdered father, sister to a tortured girl, friend to a murdered household

It took time for the realization to set in that she wasn't going home. Ser Hyle Hunt had taken her out of the city – past the long columns of armored men, shouting for blood and spoils, streaming into the city; past the Lannister pennants being trampled into the mud; past the heads of goldcloaks and redcloaks on pikes – and to a hastily-erected tent, where she fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the ground.

It seemed barely a moment later when Ser Hyle was shaking her awake. She was still groggy as he helped her onto a horse and led her back into the city and to the Red Keep. If she was fully awake she would perhaps have questioned the lack of Northern banners, or the dozen riders that surrounded her all the way to the Red Keep, and the guards who remained outside the rooms to which they brought her. She was told to stay there until King Renly was ready to see her, and when the door closed she knew.

Her new guards were far more willing to talk, at least, unlike the stony silence from the Lannister redcloaks and the Kingsguard. She heard of how King Renly's army had crossed the Blackwater Rush on a fleet of barges far upstream; of how Loras Tyrell's vanguard had driven Lord Stannis' besieging army away from the city and nearly captured the pretender king himself; of how they had immediately taken the city by storm, only to find it deserted by the cowardly Lannister royal family; and of how the army was eager to ride out again and finally smash Lord Stannis' host.

It was so maddening. She had heard that Robb and King Robert's brothers were on their way to defeat the Lannisters and rescue her. They had come, alright, but now King Robert's brothers were fighting each other, and Robb was on the side of the one who hadn't taken the city. The guards said they were watching her for her own protection, and the rooms were much nicer than those the Lannisters had kept her in, but knew that she was still a captive, and why. Joffrey and Cersei were still alive, and all that the Lannisters' enemies could think of was killing each other.

It was almost as if nobody cared about Ned Stark any more, or Desmond and all the other brave men. But I'll remember them, Arya told herself. Even Septa Mordane. Remembering them had served as a bit of hope through Joffrey's beatings, as a reminder that there was a world outside her cage and Joffrey's beatings. And once again, this sustained her.

Arya had been told that she would be brought to see King Renly to find out what would be done with her. But when Ser Hyle came again, a few days after the battle, it was not to bring her to the throne room. Rather, he carried an invitation to sup with the newly-arrived queen and queen's grandmother.

She thought of asking if the invitation was actually an invitation or an order, but she held her tongue. Of course it was an order. And while she didn't think the Tyrells would beat her as Joffrey had, she was not going to risk their wrath. So she put on the dress that was set out for her, and followed Ser Hyle to the Maidenvault.

A lady who Ser Hyle announced as Queen Margaery herself came sweeping down the stairs to greet her at the doors of the Maidenvault. "Lady Arya," she called, "I'm so pleased you came. Be welcome."

Arya managed to kneel clumsily. "Your grace." She tried to think of what Lady Catelyn would say. "Winterfell is y…I thank you, your grace."

Margaery gave no indication that she noticed Arya's mistake. "Won't you call me Margaery? Please, rise. Ser Hyle, help the Lady Arya to her feet. Might I call you Arya?"

"If it please you." Margaery was trying to be kind, Arya thought as she followed the queen up the stairs. But Joffrey had acted kind too, at first. I won't be fooled like Sansa was, Arya told herself.

Close by a merrily-blazing hearth, a wizened old lady sat at the head of a table. Margaery introduced her as her grandmother, the Lady Olenna. "Forgive my royal husband for not being able to give audience to you," Margaery continued. "He has a great many duties. He sends his regards though, and wishes me to tell you that the men sing of your bravery in helping open the Old Gate."

"There's songs about that?" Arya asked, surprised.

Queen Margaery laughed lightly. "Yes; we could bring a minstrel to sing them for you, if you'd like."

A scoff came from Lady Olenna. "Of course there's songs about it. They had to write songs about something. My grandson Loras swore that he would remove King Joffrey's head himself, but when he and Renly came storming into the throne room, all they found was a cat, that some wag had thought to dress in Lannister colors, curled on the Iron Throne."

"What happened to the cat?" Arya asked. She remembered the Red Keep had been full of cats; a gold cloak had told her once that one of them, a black old devil of a tomcat, was the real king of the castle.

"Oh, they killed the cat. Renly had promised all his men blood and glory. And when there was no Lannisters to kill but Kevan and his fop of a son, they had to find their sport elsewhere. The whole city reeks of dead goldcloaks. Not exactly the thing of which songs are written."

"Kevan was…kind. He wanted Ser Arys to take me to safety," Arya admitted. "And he stopped Joffrey from beating me."

"Ser Kevan died with honor, a sword in his hand. What you say about beatings…we had heard rumors about that," Margaery said. "So it is true that Joffrey would have you beaten every day?"

"Me and Sansa. He would have one of us beaten, and wouldn't stop till we cried for mercy. Sansa…" Arya swallowed at the memory of her sister's tear-stained face. Joffrey never allowed them to speak together. "Is she safe?" she blurted out.

"She is safe at Riverrun with your mother."

"And Robb?"

A glance passed between the two older women. "He won a great victory over Jaime Lannister near Riverrun," Margaery said. "He is also safe and you shall be reunited with him once he bends the knee to King Renly."

"So I'm a hostage, then."

Lady Olenna sighed. "I will be honest with you, child. Your brother has sworn allegiance to Lord Stannis, King Renly's older brother, as king. So should have Renly and my son, if they had any sense. It's treason, I warned them, Robert has two sons, and Renly has an older brother, how can he possibly have any claim to that ugly iron chair? Tut-tut, says my son, don't you want your sweetling to be queen? You Starks were kings once, the Arryns and the Lannisters as well, and even the Baratheons through the female line, but the Tyrells were no more than stewards until Aegon the Dragon came along and cooked the rightful King of the Reach on the Field of Fire. If truth be told, even our claim to Highgarden is a bit dodgy, just as those dreadful Florents are always whining. 'What does it matter?' you ask, and of course it doesn't, except to oafs like my son. The thought that one day he may see his grandson with his arse on the iron Throne makes Mace puff up like... now, what do you call it? Margaery, you're clever, be a dear and tell your poor old half-daft grandmother the name of that queer fish from the Summer Isles that puffs up to ten times its own size when you poke it."

"They call them puff fish, Grandmother."

"Of course they do. Summer Islanders have no imagination. My son ought to take the puff fish for his sigil, if truth be told. He could put a crown on it, the way the Baratheons do their stag, mayhap that would make him happy. We should have stayed well out of all this bloody foolishness if you ask me, but once the cow's been milked there's no squirting the cream back up her udder. After Lord Puff Fish put that crown on Renly's head, we were into the pudding up to our knees, so here we are to see things through. And so Renly insists on keeping you here till Lord Robb bends the knee. Foolishness as well, I told him. Tell me, child, would your brother Robb break his oath to Stannis to get you back?"

Arya had decided she liked Olenna Tyrell much more than Queen Margaery. And so she thought, and answered honestly. Robb loved her, she knew. But… "My father died for loyalty," Arya said at last. And Robb had always tried to be like father.

Lady Olenna sighed, as if deep in thought, before leaned over and placed her wrinkled hand over Arya's. "I know what you're thinking, child. You think that we're just as bad as the Lannisters in keeping you here. If I had my way, you would be on your way. But the menfolk will play their games."

"We would never think of treating you as the Lannisters did," Queen Margaery continued. "Until this dreadful affair is over, you shall be our honored guest. There will be singers and dancers, and we can go riding and hawking. Do you hawk, Arya?"

Arya's face had been getting longer and longer as Margaery went on. Lady Olenna peered over the top of her fan at Arya. "You don't think highly of these entertainments, do you, child?" she asked.

"I think most of them are stupid. Well, I enjoy riding. And horses."

Margaery laughed. "Well, if you like animals and you like riding, then you are halfway to enjoying hawking."

"Did nobody ever think to tell you that?" Lady Olenna grumbled. "Well, we have much to teach you."

She was invited back to sup the next day, and the next. To her surprise, Arya found that she rather enjoyed the time with the two women, and especially approval from Lady Olenna. Ser Hyle's arrival certainly wasn't dreaded as the Kingsguard arriving to bring her to Joffrey. But the following day, Ser Hyle arrived in the middle of the day rather than the evening. And he carried no invitation, only a wide smile.

"I've been sent to bring you to the throne room. King Renly wants you immediately," Ser Hyle declared. When Arya paused, memories of the beatings there coming back to mind, the knight quickly added, "King Joffrey has been captured!"

That made Arya hurry to get ready and follow Ser Hyle. The knight provided her with the details as they hastened to the throne room. "It seems that Joffrey, his pet dog, and a few guards were trying to escape incognito back to the Westerlands, staying at small inns and barns. But he got into an argument with one of the families that they were staying with and, in his fury, declared that he was the king. The Hound killed most of the family, but a boy escaped and alerted one of our patrols. We caught up with him a couple days ago; the Hound put up a stiff fight, but we prevailed and Joffrey is being brought into the city in chains now."

"The Hound?" Arya asked, thinking of poor Mycah.

"Dead with the rest of the boy king's company. Ah, here we are."

They had arrived at the throne room and slowly made their way through the crowd of people surrounding the center of the room. Even though he did not sit on the throne, there was no mistaking who was King Renly. The slender gold circlet on his head and the golden crowned stag on his green tunic was one giveaway. How the courtiers and knights in the room seemed to orbit around him, as if he was a lamp and they were seeking a reflection of his light, was another. A kind word here, a compliment there – they all hung on to every moment. A fat lord and a weedy man in fine clothes were at the front of the press. Arya remembered having seen the weedy man before, but most of the rest were strangers. There was a large squire with a striding huntsman on his tunic who she caught staring at her. When she thought nobody else was looking, she stuck out her tongue at him, and the squire almost laughed before turning away. Queen Margaery was there by King Renly as well, and the Lady Olenna.

Ser Hyle and Arya at last made their way to the center of the room, and King Renly turned to face them at the knight's greeting. "Lady Arya. I was sorry to hear of your father's loss. I am sure that he would have supported my cause, had the Lannisters not murdered him first." A murmur of approval and agreement passed through the crowd. "Ser Hyle has told us of how you aided him in taking the Old Gate…" Ser Hyle preened. "And we have also heard of what you have suffered at the hands of the Lannisters. We salute your courage, Lady Arya, and it shall be rewarded a hundredfold."

"Can I go home then…your majesty?"

"Soon. But it is another reward I had in mind." Renly turned to the crowd. "I shall give the Starks what my brother has not been able to. Justice!"

"Justice," the crowd echoed, some with more certainty than others.

"Do you wish to see Joffrey dead, Lady Arya?"

"I do."

"And so you shall." Renly motioned to one of his men-at-arms, and the crowd parted as he stepped forwards bearing a greatsword. Ice, Arya thought with a start. The last time she had seen it, it had been in the hands of her father. It had lost none of its dark and smoky appearance; nor, judging by how gingerly its bearer held it, had it lost its sharp edge. "I would like you to be the one to take Joffrey's head, with your father's sword."

Arya's heart almost stopped. Justice, she thought. She had suffered for so long from Joffrey without being able to do anything but scream. But here was justice, within her grasp. Here was power, power over Joffrey's life when she had been so powerless before. She nodded mutely.

"Have you gone mad?" Lady Olenna whispered to Renly. "That beastly sword is twice her height. Do you think she will really be able to do anything but cudgel Joffrey's head with it?"

Renly waved his hand dismissively. "The mob will love the blood." And he would hear of nothing else.

Arya barely heard anything either as they followed Renly out of the throne room. The execution was going to be on a hastily-erected platform outside the Red Keep, so the people of King's Landing could -see. It was there that they directed their steps. The whole population of the city seemed to be below, pressing against each other in a mad scramble to see the execution. But Arya's focus was on Joffrey, who was madly struggling against the guards who were holding him, bound hand and foot, against a block.

Renly greeted the cheers of the crowd with upraised arms. "I have here the tyrant who shot you down like dogs! Who feasted as you starved! And now I give you, and all those who suffered at his hands, justice!" He turned to Arya. "Lady Arya, tell them who you are."

"My name is Arya Stark."

"Louder," somebody whispered. "Let the crowd hear you."

"My name is Arya Stark," Arya repeated, looking out at the crowd. "Daughter of Ned Stark, Hand to the true king, Robert Baratheon." Daughter to a murdered father, sister to a tortured sister, friend to a murdered household.

Ned, Sansa, their slain household. Their faces were something that she had clung to through the beatings as a memory of how things had been. They were a reminder that home existed, far from Joffrey's leering face and the cold walls that imprisoned her. They were something to take her mind off the daily beatings. To her horror, they had become more and more faded as time went on. But now she remembered them all vividly.

She remembered Mycah, and how the Lannisters had cut him down and thrown him across a horse. She remembered how she'd had to drive Nymeria away, and how Lady had died because of Joffrey. She remembered bold Harwin leading her pony around the yard at Winterfell. She remembered Fat Tom, who would ruffle her head as he called her 'Underfoot.' She remembered kind Desmond, who'd brought her a beer mug filled with foam to save her from the other men's teasing. She remembered Jory, and Hullen, and Heward and Wyl, and all the others. She remembered Septa Mordane, and how bravely she'd walked toward the Lannisters as they were murdering the household.

She remembered Sansa, and the beatings they'd received together. Arya had always hated Sansa, or perhaps how perfect Sansa always was in the eyes of Mother and Septa Mordane, and how Sansa and her companions would make fun of her. But she'd seen how Sansa suffered at Joffrey's hands because of her, and she'd suffered for Sansa's sake too. And her sister had been the one friendly face during the torture, a fleeting reminder of home and hope that wouldn't fade away.

And she remembered Ned. How he'd given her Nymeria and allowed her to keep Needle – at least till Meryn Trant broke it – and how treasured his approval and his lessons were.

Joffrey and the Lannisters had torn it all it away.

The man-at-arms was handing her Ice now. She barely managed to heft it, to lift it above Joffrey's head. The boy king was blubbering for mercy. You never gave me and Sansa mercy, Arya thought angrily. You made us scream for it, but the beatings would always start again.

Joffrey had beaten her and Sansa because they were Starks. But that was something he could never take from them. In a way, his beatings had only reminded her of that. Now, she remembered her father's words.

He who passes the sentence should swing the sword.

Arya lowered Ice. Joffrey stopped blubbering and looked up, surprise registering on his face. "You're not worthy of Ice," Arya snapped before stepping away.

She took Ice with her.

A stillness descended on the crowd, then a murmuring. Arya did not listen. She barely heard as it slowly swelling into a chant of her name. "Arya the Merciful! Arya the Merciful!" Instead, she kept her eyes on Joffrey. A quick word passed between King Renly and his advisors, and Loras Tyrell stepped forwards to lop off Joffrey's head in one stroke. Justice, Arya whispered to herself as the head rolled away, and one of Renly's men lifted it up to display to the stunned crowd. But it did not feel as satisfying as she would have thought.

Arya glanced over at Olenna Tyrell. "I take it that the entertainment for the day is over," the dowager said. Arya thought the dowager nodded as she turned to go.

A.N.: I would argue that Arya as an assassin girl is incompatible with her identity as a Stark. Her whole journey past King's Landing, as she starts taking justice in her own hands, is one of her Stark identity being stripped away; she is Arry and Weasel and Cat of the Canals. Her having the power to end a life though simply saying a name, after all, is through a Faceless Man, a man without a true name. But deep down, she still knows that she is a Stark, and that's why she can never truly become a Faceless Man.

For reasons that I hope have been clear in her journey so far in this story, her Stark identity is never eroded. Her stepping away from having the power to end Joffrey's life is quite symbolic; it will not the path that she will follow.