Not Sisters By Blood But Sisters By Heart
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Toward the end of her third summer at Castle Black, Arya learned that she had a sister.
“You did not know,” said Hot Pie, who was eleven and as dumb as a stump. “I am glad you are my friend.”
She didn’t understand why he was so happy about it either. He’d been her friend before; now there were two. That meant twice as much to be friends with him, but what good were two sisters?
She never knew which one would get angry and hit first when they fought, and then there was always more shouting than fighting because the other one wanted to stop them from hurting each other. When all three were together, it was even worse.
They laughed too loud and talked back to their mother and got into fights with the other children on the street. One time, they snatched some sweets off a peddler’s table and hid behind an alley wall when he came after them with a stick.
The peddler found them anyway. The older girl took his curse without crying or begging for mercy, but Arya screamed until she was hoarse. Her sister laughed and told her not to make such a fuss.
Then the man hit her sister where she sat on the ground and drove her face into the mud. There was blood everywhere, so dark and thick that it looked black under the noon sun. It splashed across Arya’s chest and legs, soaking through the thin linen of her shift and making her shiver.
She never forgot the stink of the peddler’s blood, nor how he wrenched her sister’s hand away from her mouth to see if she’d bitten it off.
After that day, the girls stopped playing with the other children on the street, and they stayed inside most days. The brothers in the family started calling them Mudbloods, so they called themselves Mudchute from then on. That’s what they were. Not sisters by blood, but sisters by heart.
When Arya asked her father once why he’d allowed them to live in such squalor, he said it was because they were orphans. Hadn’t he adopted them himself? Arya remembered thinking that was funny. What kind of orphaned children lived with their own parents?
That night they ate supper alone while their foster mother packed up to leave. “Don’t eat too much, or your belly will swell,” she warned. She kissed each of the girls on the cheek and left them with a basket of food for the road.
Their father had made them strip down for their shift and wash up before they could have any supper. A few minutes later, he sent them out to pick flowers. “We’re going to go visit your aunt and uncle,” he explained. “They don’t want us staying here all winter, but I promised we wouldn’t run off.”
Arya had no idea where they were, but she was certain it wasn’t anywhere near King’s Landing. “Do you think Lady Catelyn is nice?” she asked.
“Lady Catelyn’s my wife, not my aunt.”
“Does she love us?”
He laughed. “Oh, yes. She loves you very dearly. Even if she doesn’t hug you every day like your mother does.”
She knew better than to ask about her mother. Their father never spoke of her, except to say she was dead.
“I wish I had a brother or sister,” said Arya, though she was only half listening. She was looking around the yard, trying to spot something familiar among the weeds and rubbish scattered through it. A broken bed frame, some rusted hinges, a handful of old pots and pans. “Look, Daddy. Look at these flowers!”
There was a patch of purple violets in the corner where a dogwood used to grow. They were blooming in the middle of autumn; the leaves had fallen, and the ground was covered with fallen twigs and bits of dried grass and dry mud. The flowers were the color of her mother’s eyes.
Her father stood beside her, picking up a fist-sized rock and throwing it as hard as he could at a pile of trash on the far side of the yard. Some things never changed.
“I wish I had a sister.”
“You don’t need a sister to have a sister, little bird. You’ve got me, and Hot Pie, and—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I mean… I want a real sister.”
“A real sister?”
She nodded.
“And she will be? Someone you can fight with and play with and cry to when you fall down and skin your knee?”
It sounded wonderful. “Yes,” she said.
He knelt down next to her. His hair was greasy and uncombed, and he smelled strongly of sweat and sour ale. He put one hand on her head, petting her through her dirty cotton cap. It felt good. “My little bird. My little bird. Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” she said again.
“Because she might be different from you,” her father warned. “She might not be as bright, or as pretty, or as clever, and that would hurt your feelings, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes!”
“But maybe she’ll be better. Maybe she’ll know how to cook better than you or sew better, or do sums quicker or sing prettier songs. And that won’t make you feel bad, will it, if she’s better than you are at everything?”
“No,” she admitted.
He smiled. “So long as you’re nice to her, and she’s nice to you, there shouldn’t be any reason you couldn’t be happy together. But I’m not sure that’s true, Arya.”
Arya didn’t understand what he meant. “Why not?”
“Because even if you love someone very much, sometimes you just don’t get along.”
Arya thought about that. “What if she says terrible things to me? What if she doesn’t like me?”
“That’s when you have to remember what our father told us. No matter what anyone tells you, a man owes nothing to his friends, nor anything to his foes.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you keep your mouth shut. If your sister says something cruel, you just smile and try to ignore it, because no matter what she says, you owe her nothing. That way, if she ever does decide to be nice, you’ll be glad she did.”
She nodded. He kissed her forehead, then rose and went back inside the house, leaving her standing there holding her basket of violets. She glanced at the sky. The stars were beginning to shine through the gaps in the clouds.
Her father had been right, she realized suddenly. Whatever he’d done before, and whatever he was doing now, she owed him nothing. He hadn’t taken her away from her mother, not really. She had run off to Lysa Arryn by herself. She would have stayed in Braavos if she could, but she and Shaggydog had been caught stealing fish, and Father had sold them both into slavery.
No matter what happened to her, she was never going to have a brother or a sister. Not while she lived.
***
The next morning, Lady Karstark rode out toward the Twins with her son atop the palfrey, and Lord Karston followed close behind on his own horse. They left early enough so that they should reach their destination in time for the first meal of the day.
Jon remained in the Vale, taking care of some final arrangements with the council. He had left a few men at the Crag and another patrol in the hills north of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, but all the others were ordered back to the Wall.
Jon wanted to send two more patrols east to watch the approaches to Mole’s Town, but he worried that if he did, there would be no men left to defend the Wall itself. So he left only one additional small troop posted there.
When he sent for the ravens, he told them to fly ahead and let Lord Tywin know that he was coming. He knew he ought to write himself, but he had been too busy. He wrote as fast as he could, but there were other letters and dispatches he needed to answer, and he couldn’t find the words to say goodbye to Sam, or to Sansa.
Lady Karstark rode alone, accompanied only by her squire and her maid. When she reached the gates she handed over her letter to Ser Addam Marbrand, who took it up to the citadel. From there it would be taken to King Robert’s tent, where it would be read to him. In his absence, it was the duty of Lady Barbrey to handle such correspondence.
Lord Karston, however, refused to leave the Vale until he heard back from his son. He insisted that they ride back to Castle Black to speak with Maester Luwin, and Jon saw no reason to argue. He was curious, though, about this business of his sister. He wondered if they had had a falling out, or if she had found someone else. It bothered him more than he cared to admit that Sansa Stark could still be alive.
They reached the castle late that afternoon, and Jon led Lord Karston down to the crypts of House Bolton and Ser Addam’s old chambers. The guards at the door bowed low when they saw him, and one of them fetched the master. By the time they brought him, the visitors had already seated themselves.
“Lord Karston,” said Jon. “Maester Luwin.”
“My lords.” The master sat gingerly, wincing as he settled back onto his cushions. “I trust you had an uneventful journey?”
“We did, thank you.” Lord Karston smiled.
“How fares the king?” asked Jon.
“He is well, and the realm prospers under his rule,” answered the master. “You will be pleased to hear that my studies are advancing apace.”
“And your leg?” Jon asked.
Luwin gave a sad smile. “Nowhere near so bad, I’m pleased to say. My latest batch of salves seems to be doing its work.”
“Excellent,” said Lord Karston. “I’ve written a letter for you to give him. A missive from your cousin Edmure Tully, informing His Grace that the queen has given birth to a son.”
“A son!” Jon felt a coldness settle deep in his bones. “Bastard or heir, we must send word forthwith to the Iron Throne.”
“As you say, my lord,” agreed on the master. “May I present… ?”
“This is Ser Addam Marbrand, my steward.” Lord Karston gestured to the young knight, who stood stiffly beside the door.
“Ser Addam, may I present Lord Commander Mormont and Ser Addam Marbrand.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” said Ser Addam.
“Have you ever visited the king before?” asked the master.
“Only once,” Ser Addam replied, as Jon had known he would. “At Riverrun. He pardoned me, after our little misunderstanding. I’d sooner not go through that again.”
Jon wondered why Marbrand had come along, but he said nothing.
“I’ll take that message now, sir,” said Marbrand, reaching for the parchment.
“No need,” said Jon. “Not yet.”
“But—”
“There are things I must do first. You will join us for dinner, won’t you, Lord Karston? We have much to discuss, and not all of it is pleasant. And perhaps afterward you can tell me what happened between my sister and you.”
Marbrand reddened beneath his tan, but Lord Karston laughed aloud. “Whatever it was, it ended long ago, and I doubt my sister remembers, either.”
“Perhaps we should dine together, then,” suggested the master. “If you and Ser Addam would like to stay for supper, I could prepare something special.”
“That would be most agreeable, my good man.”
“Very well,” said Jon Snow. “Dinner with Ser Addam, and afterward I’ll want you to tell me all about this affair between my sister and Lord Karston.”
***
The next morning, Jon led Marbrand and Lady Barbrey back to the crypts of House Bolton. The master had been right; Ser Addam seemed relieved to see him. “Good day, Ser Addam,” said Jon. “I hope you slept well last night.”
“I did, m’lord. Thank you.”
“Did you find Ser Daven?”
“Oh, yes, m’lord. He was out hunting one of the wild hogs that roam these woods.”
“Hog?”
“Yes. A big one, too. Bigger than any I’ve seen since I was a boy. Ser Daven killed him with his sword. He’s quite proud of it.”
“Is he?” asked Jon.
“He is. He showed me and the other guards, but none of them knew the name of the breed. They called it a boar, I think.”
“That’s interesting. Tell me, Ser Addam—did you know Lady Barbrey was here?”
“She came with her father.”
“Her father?”
“Lord Barbrey’s grandfather. He wanted to show her the crypts, but there aren’t very many of ’em left.”
“Did you see him?”
“They were inside when I arrived, but they didn’t come out till late. I heard them talking outside. Then I went down to the kitchens to get some food, and when I came back she was gone. Only him and the old man were left.”
“Where are they now?”
“I don’t know, m’lord. I haven’t seen either of them since.”
“Let me look around,” said Jon. “Maybe I’ll find them.”
He found Lady Barbrey on the steps leading to the top of the stairs. She was sitting beside the corpse of the wild boar and weeping softly. Her tears glistened in the light of the rising sun.
Jon knelt beside her. “My lady, what is wrong?”
“I’m so sorry, my love,” sobbed Barbrey. “Forgive me! It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Not before we even got to the wedding feast. Why did you have to leave me here, alone? Oh, gods…”
“Shh,” Jon told her gently. “We’re here now, my lady. I’ve brought you back.”
“What do we do?” she wailed. “Do we bring him home? Can we bury him in the crypts?”
“Of course. I’ll help you.”
“And then… what do we do? He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“You didn’t kill him?”
Barbrey shook her head. “No, no, never. I promise you that, my lord. I loved him. But I couldn’t make him love me back. That wasn’t my fault, though. Was it?”
“Why did he leave you here with no food or water?”
“Because I wouldn’t marry him. Or at least that’s what he says. I asked him if I could go back to the castle, and he said no. I begged him to let me stay here, but he said he’d send someone for me when the wedding was over.
And when it was, he said he might send for me, or not. He said I should just wait here until he decided. So I waited. I thought maybe he’d change his mind. I kept waiting and waiting, but he never changed it.”
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know. Only that he rode off in the morning, and never came back.”
“Was he mad?”
She sniffled and wiped away her tears with her sleeve. “I don’t know. He was angry, that’s all. Angry. Maybe he was going to kill me after all. I don’t know. All I know is that he left me here, and he never came back.”
“You’re certain he was gone all night?”
“No matter how long I sat up waiting, he never came back. And I waited all night, m’lord.”
“How many days has he been gone?”
“Three, four nights, m’lord.”
“There are only two nights left. At best, he would have crossed half a hundred leagues by now, and he won’t be getting much farther today. If we search hard enough, we can find him easily.”
“But then what?”
“Then we go back to the castle to tell your brother and his men where he is. We put our men on horses and follow him as fast as we can. As soon as we catch up to him, we cut him down and bury him and carry him back here, and give him a proper funeral.”
“If we find him.”
“We will.”
“You really think we can, m’lord? After all this time?”
“Yes, I do, my lady. You and I both know how strong an oath Lord Barbrey swore. My men will follow me to the ends of the earth to protect him, and I swear to you that we’ll not rest until we find him.”
“I wish I knew what to say.” She looked around at the empty forest, then turned her eyes onto him again. “When I saw him last, I had hoped he’d forgotten about me. I thought maybe he’d changed his mind, and come looking for me. I thought maybe I’d be safe with him after all.”
“You were right. He hasn’t forgotten you. Don’t worry. We’ll find him for you.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
They stood together for a moment longer, then Jon led Barbrey back into the house. His first order of business upon returning to the main hall was to tell the servants to get to work cleaning up. Then he went upstairs to his rooms.
The bed was still unmade from the night before, and his clothes hung in a heap on the floor. The chamber pot stood open and empty, and the washbasin was filled with dirty water.
Jon sank down heavily onto the edge of the bed. “Oh, fuck it,” he muttered.
He took the dress tunic off the hook in front of the door and threw it against the far wall. One leg of his breeches dropped to the floor, and he kicked them under the bed too.
Soon there was nothing more than a crumpled pile of blankets on the floor.
Jon leaned forward over the mess, staring at it with a mixture of despair and frustration. When he was younger, he’d slept in worse conditions—a blanket on the ground, or just a few straws. But he’d always known that he’d wake up the next day and have a chance to clean himself up.
Now he was just about ready to throw in the towel and admit defeat. He was hopelessly lost in the woods, with no plan to find his way out. He couldn’t even find the right path anymore; he’d wandered so far off course that he had no idea which direction he needed to head in to find his way back home.
With a sigh, he reached down and pulled one corner of the blankets free, then dragged them across the floor to cover the whole mess. Then he sat back down and stared at the wall.
After a while, he lifted his head and looked around the room, then got to his feet. He took the mirror down from its place beside the chest of drawers and stepped closer to look at himself.
His hair was a mess, his face was filthy, and he hadn’t shaved in a couple of weeks. It wasn’t like he’d been shaving regularly before, but still…
He snapped the mirror shut and threw it to the floor.
It bounced once on the stone and stopped.
“Bastard!” he shouted. “What are you doing?”
The mirror didn’t move. It just lay there, silent and unmoving.
He looked down at the thing and felt his heart begin to pound. He heard the sound of laughter bubbling up from somewhere deep inside him.
“That’s it! That’s a perfect idea! I’ll make a fucking mirror out of you, you bastard! I’ll use your glassy eyes to see the world through, and then I’ll crush your body in my hands and never let you out of my sight again!”
His legs shook, and he fell onto his knees, grabbing hold of the frame of the mirror. He squeezed harder and tighter, wanting to tear the thing apart, but the mirror stayed intact.
He grabbed the glass tightly in his fist and yanked. With a loud crack, the edge split and broke off, and the rest of the mirror shattered in his hand.
“Fxxk,” he said softly, and let it fall from his fingers to clatter against the stone floor.
The End