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You'd been looking for Arya for over an hour now. She was an adept hider, and an even better runner, making her a perfect hide-and-seek-and-chase partner. Every so often, you'd catch a glimpse of her, around corners and under beds, but by the time you'd gotten to her hiding place she'd be gone, leaving nothing but a lingering sense of mischief behind.
The circumstances of her arrival were not ideal, and you knew that the adults were probably having much less fun than you were with this whole situation. Still, when you looked at Arya, sometimes you couldn't help but think Jon Arryn's death hadn't resulted in only bad. You'd been alone for so long.
Your siblings had never been much for your kind of games-- Myrcella was always much more for dolls, Tommen was, for lack of a nicer way to say it, shit at games, and these days you weren't touching Joffrey with a ten-foot pole. None of the older Lannisters had time for games either, of course, and you'd been strictly forbidden from messing around with street kids anymore, so for a distressingly long time you'd been left without any proper friends. And then Arya came, like a rugged, rowdy angel.
It'd only been a week, but by the gods, she was perfect. This was the most fun you'd ever had, the best friend you'd ever had.
Suddenly, there was a flash of dark hair from around the corner, and you gave chase.
"Get back here!" You rounded the corner, bringing Arya into full view. She was tearing down the long, empty hallway in front of you, her hair blowing behind her like the trail of a comet.
"Not on your life!"
She looked back, flashed you a grin, and then picked up the pace. You almost lost her when you emerged in a more crowded part of the keep. But you kept after her, making sure to keep her in your sights.
You ducked, dodged, and weaved your way through the crowd, barely managing to keep yourself on your feet, arms out in front of you to better catch Arya. Around statues, around servingpeople, around your cousin Lancel, and out the door at the other end of the room.
You whizzed by a blur of red and gold that looked suspiciously mother-shaped. The blur shouted, but you were already far past her and into a clearer part of the castle.
The end of the hall was approaching, and you were gaining on Arya. She burst through the double doors and into the courtyard, with you right on her tail. At this point, you could barely breathe from the combination of running and giggling, and it looked like Arya was starting to lose her breath too.
She gave out before you did, slowing to catch her breath. You did not. By the time you realized what was happening, you'd already crashed into her full-force, screeching as you both went down in a heap on the grass.
The impact turned you and Arya into a rolling pile of disjointed limbs for a moment, frantically trying to figure out which way was up and which way was definitely not up, laughing all the way. You crashed to a halt, and found yourself lying beside her. In the grass, under the afternoon sun, probably only slightly concussed.
In that moment, you realized just how lovely Arya's laugh was. You decided you wanted to hear it more.
When both of you had caught your breath, your giggles finally died down, you looked at each other. And then immediately burst into laughter again.
"Did-- did you see my mom?" You wheezed, "I think i knocked her over!"
Arya nodded, clutching her stomach. The thought of your mother falling over was greatly amusing to the both of you.
"I bet her hair got all messed up from it!"
"Yeah, and her dress is probably dirty too-- I'm never going to hear the end of this, Arya. She'll be like--"
You did your best imitation of your mother's face, pursing your lips into a frown and lifting your head up.
"Go to your room! You have no right to do this to me," you imitated, raising your voice. "Do you understand who we are? We're LAANNNISTERRRSSSS," you drew out the word obnoxiously, "we do NOT run around like FOOLS--"
Arya nodded, laughing once again, and you felt a surge of pride at being the one to make her laugh like that.
"Gods, she's SOOOOO particular about manners." You groaned, though a smile remained on your face. "It's all 'Lannisters do this, Lannisters do that, go wash the dirt off your face, why are you covered in mud, this is why we can't have nice things, Lannisters are the best, yadda yadda." For some reason, your mother always preached your Lannister heritage, even though you were a Baratheon.
Arya nodded. "Yeah, it looks like it." Her smile grew. "More rules means more rules to break, though. More ways to piss people off!"
"That's true, that's the one good thing about it. I'm pretty sure my uncle Tyrion invented that tactic. He's been annoying my mom and uncle Jaime, and just about everyone else, for as long as I can remember."
A comfortable silence fell over you. The courtyard was a beautiful place, and one of your favorite spots to be with Arya. The flowers, the fountains, the open space to run in. The lack of other people than you and her.
She looked you in the eyes, and gave you that sly smile, and you swore you felt your heart skip a couple beats. You returned the smile.
"I can't believe it's only been a week," You said. "I feel like I've known you my whole life. I know you'd probably rather be back home, but I'm so glad to have you."
Arya paused for a moment, thinking.
"I mean, I would rather not be around your brother," she admitted, "but I want to stay with you."
"If it helps, I'd also rather not be around him." You giggled, taking her hand. "Ive been so alone for so long-- you don't even feel real sometimes."
"I promise I'm real." Arya squeezed your hand. "And that you'll never be alone again."
You turned to face her, wrapping your arms around her neck, the exaustion beginning to catch up to you. The wind blew gently. She put an arm over you, and pulled you close, releasing a contented sigh.
"Can you believe that we're supposed to hate each other?" You said.
Arya snorted. "I know, right? Our families are so stupid. I mean, I know our fathers are best friends, but other than that, they're always at each other's throats."
"My mother hates our friendship. She's so protective."
"I hate your mother."
"Sometimes, I hate her too." You sighed. "You'd like my uncle Tyrion, though. I hope he'll be back soon."
"Yeah, it's not all bad. My father likes you."
You smiled at that. Lord Stark had been kind the few times you'd met him, calling you 'Lady Baratheon' despite your age.
"I like him too. But I like you most of all."
Arya turned her head to look at you, so close your noses touched.
"I like you more."
You snuggled further into her side, sighing contentedly, and then yawning. The sun had begun to set over the Red Keep, though its rays continued to keep you warm as you fell asleep in Arya's arms.