The clashing of castle-forged steel echoed throughout the streets, mostly closely followed by screams of death and anguish. It had started from nowhere, no sirens indicating an attack, no guards clambering through the narrow alleys with swords brandished and shields raised. The resonating clanging was enough of a tell for you to pack up the market stall and head to the safety of home for the day.

You had just finished wrapping the last of your wares when you picked up the trunk and turned, only to be met with a terrified looking little girl holding a blade, the tip of which pressed firmly against your leather jerkin.

"Do you mind?" She froze, her eyes and jaw agape. "Wait... you're Lord Eddard's little girl, aren't you?"

"Uumm. Yes. Yes, I am, Lady Arya Stark and I demand that you assist me."

"Could you please remove your blade from my stomach m'lady? I'm not quite sure what's going on, but I promise you that I am not here to harm you. I offer whatever service you require." Her thin blade found its way into the sheath and she took a small moment to try and compose herself.

"Do you hold your allegiances with house Stark?"

"Well of course m'lady, I rooted in King's landing and Lord Eddard has been nothing but fruitful to me and my family, why do you ask?"

"The Lannister's, they've brought bloodshed and are trying to usurp my father from his rightful throne. They've already killed many of my friends and my family. They will stop at nothing to kill me, my father, my sister." As she spoke her head darted back and forth, constantly keeping a lookout for any sign of the Lannister sigil, any notion of an unwanted lion. She tried her best to keep a brave demeaner, but even she could not stop tears from filling her distraught eyes.

"Don't worry, I will keep you safe. I owe it to the Stark name."

"I don't know if I'll have anything to give you as a reward. I don't even know if King's Landing will remain in Stark power."

"Don't worry about that, Lady or not I'll help."

From around the corner, or maybe from the other side of an alley, the sound of chain-mailed footsteps stomping through muddy puddles could be heard.

"Get in the basket." A large wicker chest normally used for the transportation of pottery made a well-sized location for her to hide, it was a tight fit, but anything was better than being captured.

~*~

Written by Aaron.