“Arya.” She whispered the word the first time. The second time she threw it at him. “I am Arya, of House Stark.” “You are,” he said, “but the House of Black and White is no place for Arya, of House Stark.”
This belongs to Arya of House Stark. All these things belong to her. There is no place for them here. There is no place for her. Hers is too proud a name, and we have no room for pride. We are servants here.
❝one day you’ll get used to the mud in your lungs and your veins and your eyes and you’ll feel fine
for the little bird trapped in a gilded cage, who became the wolf, hardened and feral, feet bloody but fast in the snow. for the girl whose veins now run blue with the sharp ice of the north, no longer afraid to stake her claim. for the girl whose heart was stolen, and who came with jagged teeth to reclaim it, not yet ready to be cruel. for the girl who no longer prays, no longer waits for a resolution, but counts the days by the beat of her heart against her ribcage and the gaps between the hollow ache in her bones. for the girl whose skin has turned from porcelain, to ivory, to steel.
Let’s talk about how both Lyanna and Jon jump to a vulnerable person’s defense as they’re being beaten up….
“None offered a name, but he marked their faces well so he could revenge himself upon them later. They shoved him down every time he tried to rise, and kicked him when he curled up on the ground. But then they heard a roar. ‘That’s my father’s man you’re kicking, howled the she-wolf.”
“On your feet,” Thorne repeated. The fat boy struggled to rise, slipped, and fell heavily again. “Ser Piggy is starting to grasp the notion,” Ser Alliser observed. “Again.”
Halder lifted the sword for another blow. “Cut us off a ham!” Rast urged, laughing.
Jon shook off Pyp’s hand. “Halder, enough.”
Halder looked to Ser Alliser.
“The Bastard speaks and the peasants tremble,” the master-at-arms said in that sharp, cold voice of his. “I remind you that I am the master-at-arms here, Lord Snow.”
“Look at him, Halder,” Jon urged, ignoring Thorne as best he could. “There’s no honor in beating a fallen foe. He yielded.” He knelt beside the fat boy.
“Stay behind me,” Jon said to the fat boy. Ser Alliser had often sent two foes against him, but never three. He knew he would likely go to sleep bruised and bloody tonight. He braced himself for the assault.
And both Lyanna and Jon teach the aggressors lesson….
When his fallen foes sought to ransom horse and armor, the Knight of the Laughing Tree spoke in a booming voice through his helm, saying, ‘Teach your squire honor, that shall be ransom enough.”
Hours later, as the castle slept, three of them paid a call on his cell. Grenn held his arms while Pyp sat on his legs. Jon could hear Rast’s rapid breathing as Ghost leapt onto his chest. The direwolf’s eyes burned red as embers as his teeth nipped lightly at the soft skin of the boy’s throat, just enough to draw blood. “Remember, we know where you sleep,” Jon said softly.
Let’s just say Lyanna Stark would be very proud of her son.