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no home sweet no sweet home
[ At Alexstrasza's tree ]
[ She finally stopped inside the woods. Sagging against a tree, she grabs her side. Her breaths come in shallow gasps. She inhales through her nose, exhales through her mouth. Calm as still water. I must be still water. This time, her dancing lessons don't help.
For once, Arya is completely alone. Nymeria some days left early in the morning to hunt and wouldn't return until evening. Arya did not worry, but she misses her companion keenly now. The girl and wolf are the same; their pack is all gone.
When she opens her eyes, she blinks. The vegetation ahead is verdant, moreso than the one where she is. Look with your eyes, she hears her dancing master say. Looking with her eyes, she spots a tree. An oak. An old, old oak, peaceful and warm. She doesn't think there are any weirwoods here. But this oak has the feel of a weirwood. Of Winterfell's heart tree.
Is the tree still there? Did they cut it down and burn it? Is it broken and dead too?
She sits in front of the tree like she used to in front of the heart tree. They would go together to say their prayers to the old gods. She remembers one night they spent in vigil outside. Rickon was not yet born and Bran was still a baby. Arya had said she could stay awake all night, but she fell asleep against Jon Snow. Only their father had stayed awake until morning. He had woken them all up, her and Robb and Jon, even Sansa had stayed outside, to see the sunlight wash over the red leaves. The tree had seemed on fire, but it wasn't scary. It was beautiful.
When she tries to pray this time, the journal trapped against her chest pokes her. Arya tugs it out and drops it beside her. The cover falls open. Her prayer is quiet and one she has been whispering to herself every night before sleeping. Today, it has a new name. ]
Joffrey. Queen Cersei. Ser Ilyn. Ser Meryn. The Hound. Theon Greyjoy.
[ She finally stopped inside the woods. Sagging against a tree, she grabs her side. Her breaths come in shallow gasps. She inhales through her nose, exhales through her mouth. Calm as still water. I must be still water. This time, her dancing lessons don't help.
For once, Arya is completely alone. Nymeria some days left early in the morning to hunt and wouldn't return until evening. Arya did not worry, but she misses her companion keenly now. The girl and wolf are the same; their pack is all gone.
When she opens her eyes, she blinks. The vegetation ahead is verdant, moreso than the one where she is. Look with your eyes, she hears her dancing master say. Looking with her eyes, she spots a tree. An oak. An old, old oak, peaceful and warm. She doesn't think there are any weirwoods here. But this oak has the feel of a weirwood. Of Winterfell's heart tree.
Is the tree still there? Did they cut it down and burn it? Is it broken and dead too?
She sits in front of the tree like she used to in front of the heart tree. They would go together to say their prayers to the old gods. She remembers one night they spent in vigil outside. Rickon was not yet born and Bran was still a baby. Arya had said she could stay awake all night, but she fell asleep against Jon Snow. Only their father had stayed awake until morning. He had woken them all up, her and Robb and Jon, even Sansa had stayed outside, to see the sunlight wash over the red leaves. The tree had seemed on fire, but it wasn't scary. It was beautiful.
When she tries to pray this time, the journal trapped against her chest pokes her. Arya tugs it out and drops it beside her. The cover falls open. Her prayer is quiet and one she has been whispering to herself every night before sleeping. Today, it has a new name. ]
Joffrey. Queen Cersei. Ser Ilyn. Ser Meryn. The Hound. Theon Greyjoy.