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Take me somewhere I’ve never been before.
Open my eyes
Just a little.
Leave me wanting more.
"But he won’t be mine. The man always owns the lady," she argued, judging by what she’d heard and seen. Women were never in control of their husband, but men could generally do what they liked to their wives. "Especially if he’s a High Lord or something."
It was true, and yet it still sounded like a weird speech coming from such a young girl.
"Is that what happens with your parents?" In other circumstances she wouldn't ask such thing, but so far the only that bothered the young lady, apparently, were courtesies. She had always heard nice things about Lord Eddard Stark, but who better than his own kids to know his true nature. "But, in any case... things can always change."
It was on of those nights full or nightmares and dreadful memories. She knew she ought to try and be quiet, otherwise the wolves would find her in that forest or perhaps something even worse. But there was nothing she could do to stop mourning.
"I left them... They trusted me and I left them to die."
"Before. If I run away when I’m married, then that still means we’d be married. He’d still own me," she muttered, scowling now. That was one thing she hated about the prospect of marriage. The fact that the woman was then owned by the man, her freedom to do what she wanted would be gone if married to the wrong person. "And I don’t want to be owned."
Strong words for such a young girl. Leyre couldn't helpt but to lower her gaze. She was owned, by her father, by her Lord and even owned by the little ladies. They weren't bad to her, she was gently treated by even then she still wondered how everything would be like if she were free.
"Some people think that's a fair exchange. You're his and he's yours. It's not usual to meet someone who thinks so different. What makes you think like that?"
The girl just snorted, trying to imagine living happily as a Lady. No doubt her parents would pick someone with a fancy title, a High Lord or something. Making her the Lady of Something. A prestigious title for a girl who acted dignified and proper. Not Arya.
"Or maybe I could just run away and join the Night’s Watch."
"The night's watch?" A soft giggle followed her words. Now, she was pretty sure girls weren't allowed there. Perhaps being a knight was easier for a woman than taking the black. "That before or after meeting your future husband? Perhaps you could try and give him a chance and then run away, if he's beyond all bearing."
"My sister wants to get married and she’s thirteen," Arya pointed out, knowing that Sansa wasn’t far off from a betrothal. If she was honest, Arya worried that she too would be set up with a Lord’s son rather soon. "I don’t want to though."
"Some girls start dreaming about marriage since they are very young, and on the other hand I supposed other girls never want something like that." It could be hard, being obligated to spend the rest of your days with someone you probably never met before your wedding day. A part of her wanted to say something to help the girl, but if her parents wanted her to wed, there probably wasn't much to do.
"Who knows, perhaps someday you'll change your mind. Or you'll discover that your future husband isn't that bad, maybe you two will have a lot in common..."
"Are you not going to get married?" she asked, furrowing her brows. Yes, Arya didn’t want that life for herself, but she’d seen that all other girls seemed to want a husband and children. "How old are you anyway?"
"I... don't know. Maybe I won't." After all no man would seek an engagement with her for the benefits. There were none. She had no name, no land, no riches worthwhile of a marriage. Her father perhaps would try to sell her to someone who could benefit him somehow, but she didn't find any reason to believe that anyone would accept. And marriage for love? For some reason that seemed even less likely to happen. "I'm eighteen."