WiSh - Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Wild Arya

"Nymeria, the name of a heroic queen, she was the super heroine of the Rhoynar who conquered all of Dorne and established a unified kingdom." Arya's voice was bright, a stark contrast to the early morning light that streamed through the window. "Good morning, Arya. Your direwolf is beautiful. Thank you for sparing my life earlier," Will said, sitting up with a smile.

The room was already bathed in the soft glow of dawn, promising a clear day ahead.

The young girl before him was undeniably pretty, her features delicate and fine, said to be the very image of his aunt Lyanna Stark. Yet, her eyes held a wildness, untamed and fierce, far from the conventional notions of cuteness, innocence, or purity.

To anyone who met Arya, her beauty was overshadowed by the untamed spirit that danced in her gaze. The direwolf at her side, though not overtly hostile, bore an expression that was both belligerent and restless, as if ready to bare its teeth and lunge at a moment's notice. Indeed, the wolf was a reflection of its mistress.

"Hey, Night's Watchman, Nymeria is my hero, just as Daeron Targaryen is my brother Jon's hero," Arya declared.

"Oh, who is Daeron Targaryen? I'm not familiar with him," Will replied, his interest piqued. This girl, barely eleven, had not shed all her childishness, yet her courage was remarkable, and the wildness in her eyes was all-consuming, revealing a fearless nature.

She herself seemed unaware of her unique aura.

"Daeron Targaryen conquered Dorne at the age of fourteen; his bravery was unmatched. My brother Jon loves to tell me his heroic stories. Daeron and Nymeria are both great heroes," Arya explained.

"So, you and your brother Jon also aspire to be great heroes," Will observed.

"Yes, I heard you're a chosen one, a deserter, a Night's Watchman, and that you're good at sneaking around and stealing things in the night. How did I get to your bedside without you knowing? Hmm?" Arya's tone was playful, yet challenging.

"That means the rumors are false," Will laughed. "And it means you're quite skilled at sneaking in silently. Lady Arya, may I ask what brings you to my room so early in the morning?"

"I want to hear you tell the story of the Others. You said you've seen them, but Jory and the others call you a liar. Are the Others real? What do they look like? Do they have claws like a shadowcat and fangs like a wolf? Do the Others eat children?" Arya's questions came in a rush, her curiosity unbridled.

"The Others I've seen are not the nice, fun scary stories Old Nan tells you. If the Others are real, are you not afraid?" Will asked.

"I'm not afraid at all," Arya replied, her face alight with astonished curiosity, devoid of any fear.

"Why? These adults are afraid of the Others. You should know that ordinary swords can't kill them."

"Oh, do you need a magic sword?" Arya looked surprised.

"Valyrian steel swords can kill the Others, as can obsidian, also known as dragonglass," Will informed her.

"Dragonglass? Do you have any? Can I see it?" Arya's eyes sparkled with interest.

"Uh, no! Not a piece of dragonglass," Will admitted.

"Then you definitely don't have a Valyrian steel sword," Arya concluded.

"Of course not. In the entire Winterfell, only Lord Eddard's Ice is a Valyrian steel sword. However, our Lord Commander Mormont also has a Valyrian steel sword named Longclaw," Will said.

"Can one Longclaw hold off all the Others?"

"Certainly not," Will replied.

"So what will you do? I heard from Robb that when the ravens return tomorrow, you'll be sent back to the Wall. Will you fight the Others? Will you be killed by them?" Arya's questions were relentless.

"No, I'll live to a ripe old age because the Others are also afraid of fire. Just use fire to burn them. There's plenty of wood in the forest below the Wall," Will chuckled. "I'll burn them to death."

The early morning had been disrupted by Arya's quest for tales of the Others, yet Will found himself in good spirits. He cheerfully rose from his bed and approached the window, where he observed Jon, Robb, and Theon practicing with wooden swords in the courtyard below. Bran was nearby, practicing the basic archery movements of drawing and aiming. Their instructor was a robust man with graying temples.

"Who is that instructor? Ser Rodrik Cassel?" Will inquired.

"Yes," Arya confirmed.

"He's quite skilled with a sword, Arya. The morning is pleasant; why don't you join them?" Will suggested.

"Mom and Dad won't let me learn the sword. They want me to learn embroidery from Septa Mordane," Arya replied, a hint of frustration in her voice.

"Embroidery? Oh, that's a pity. No, Arya, you should learn the sword, with a thin, narrow blade. Nymeria didn't become a great hero by mastering embroidery," Will encouraged her.

"I know! But we don't have any thin, narrow swords here, just the big, wide ones that knights favor," Arya pointed out.

"It doesn't matter. You can ask the blacksmith Mikken to forge a fine, narrow sword for you. Mikken's craftsmanship is excellent," Will advised.

"Mom won't agree," Arya said, doubt creeping into her tone.

"Don't tell Mom. Go ask Dad. If he still disagrees, remind him of Aunt Lyanna. Tell him winter is coming, and you want to learn to protect yourself. He'll allow you to learn the sword," Will proposed.

"Really?" Arya's eyes lit up with hope.

"Yes, really," Will confirmed.

"Why would mentioning Aunt Lyanna make Dad agree to let me learn the sword?" Arya asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Good question. But before I reveal the answer, would you consider me your best friend?" Will asked, a smile playing on his lips.

"I would," Arya replied, her expression serious.

Will smiled, knowing Arya's preference for befriending tradesmen, servants, butchers, thieves, and wandering singers over the so-called noble knights with their pretentiousness and flowery lies.

"Then you must swear by the old gods not to tell anyone about our conversation, not even Jon Snow," Will insisted.

"Alright, I promise," Arya agreed, her voice a whisper.

Arya was as true to her word as Eddard Stark himself.

"Aunt Lyanna was much like you when she was young. She disliked embroidery and the trappings of being a lady; she preferred archery, riding, and swordplay. Yet, your grandfather Rickard Stark forbade her from learning archery and insisted she learn embroidery. The more your grandfather suppressed her, the more rebellious she became," Will explained.

"Whatever your grandfather arranged, your aunt did the opposite. Her betrothal to Robert Baratheon was also his doing. You know the rest of the story. After your aunt's incident, your grandfather Rickard Stark felt guilty until his dying day, as did your father, Eddard Stark. They regretted not allowing her to learn martial arts. Had they agreed, perhaps she wouldn't have been so rebellious and developed such a defiant character, leading to a tragic life," Will continued.

"Nonsense, my aunt was taken by Rhaegar; it had nothing to do with her personality," Arya retorted.

"True, but consider this: if your aunt had been skilled in martial arts, Rhaegar might not have been able to take her so easily. If your aunt had been as formidable as Nymeria, Rhaegar wouldn't have dared to approach her," Will countered.

Arya's eyes widened in realization. "How do you know all this? Dad rarely speaks of Aunt Lyanna."

"Arya! Arya, Arya!" a woman's voice called out, echoing through the halls.

Arya's face paled. "Shh, it's Septa Mordane. Our morning lessons are about to start. Cursed lady etiquette, cursed embroidery, Septa Mordane is so annoying," she muttered under her breath.

"Ignore her. Go find your father and tell him you want to learn the sword. If you insist, he will agree," Will urged.

"What if he doesn't agree?" Arya asked, a hint of worry in her voice.

"Then run away from home to give him a scare," Will suggested with a mischievous grin.

"Where would I go if I ran away? I could go to the Wall with you. I haven't seen Uncle Benjen Stark in ages," Arya mused aloud.

Will was taken aback for a moment before quickly responding, "Arya, you just need to hide in the godswood by the heart tree for a night. Once your father finds you, you'll have succeeded."

"Did my aunt also hide in the godswood by the heart tree?" Arya inquired, her interest piqued.

Will touched his nose, a gesture of contemplation. "Yes, she did," he admitted.

"Arya! Arya, Arya—" The calls of several servants now joined the search.

"I have to go. Goodbye, my friend of the Night's Watch," Arya whispered, crouching low. "Nymeria, be silent. Follow me," she commanded her direwolf.

She tiptoed out of Will's room with the stealth of a vigilant and agile cat, leaving no trace behind.

"Arya, my little friend, you will become a great assassin," Will thought to himself. "Let me give you a head start."