[there is anger and bitterness that brews in arya's heart, feelings that make it grow darker every day, feelings that threaten to erase the sweet arya that once was and replace her with a shadow of herself. each night she repeats the names of those who wronged her then those she loves, the ones she misses each day but she never cries, she does not allow it. robb would never cry. jon would never cry. don't be a baby. even as dreams of their father's death haunts her, she battles back the feelings that might break her.
the world has been cold to arya stark since the day she left winterfell. never before had she understood the words of her house, although she knew what they were supposed to mean, she had never felt the cold. quickly her life had turned from an endless summer to a brutal winter, each time she closed her eyes she saw her father's face, dead and lifeless, even though she never quite saw it in reality. she saw her sister's face too, tears rolling down it, a face that brought on both longing and fury. there were other faces, those of robb and jon, her mother, her younger brothers, even maester ludwin and ser rodrik, but nothing brought her warmth. not even the memories of life that seemed so far away.
this place is strange. she stays in the shadows, along the walls, unsure of how she got here, what trick brought her here. perhaps its a dream. but the aroma of food makes her empty stomach grumble and after a long while, its torture to ignore it. she darts out like a cat, snatching a piece of bread to steal, ready to run should she be caught.
its then she sees him. a ghost. for it must be. how else would she see her father walking, alive, breathing. its a cruel dream she finds herself in and she shakes her head to wake her self up at him, big eyes staring wide at him, both in shock and longing.]
no subject
the world has been cold to arya stark since the day she left winterfell. never before had she understood the words of her house, although she knew what they were supposed to mean, she had never felt the cold. quickly her life had turned from an endless summer to a brutal winter, each time she closed her eyes she saw her father's face, dead and lifeless, even though she never quite saw it in reality. she saw her sister's face too, tears rolling down it, a face that brought on both longing and fury. there were other faces, those of robb and jon, her mother, her younger brothers, even maester ludwin and ser rodrik, but nothing brought her warmth. not even the memories of life that seemed so far away.
this place is strange. she stays in the shadows, along the walls, unsure of how she got here, what trick brought her here. perhaps its a dream. but the aroma of food makes her empty stomach grumble and after a long while, its torture to ignore it. she darts out like a cat, snatching a piece of bread to steal, ready to run should she be caught.
its then she sees him. a ghost. for it must be. how else would she see her father walking, alive, breathing. its a cruel dream she finds herself in and she shakes her head to wake her self up at him, big eyes staring wide at him, both in shock and longing.]
F-Father?