Chapter 202

"This girl refused to meet you, claiming you sold her off and suddenly gave her a fiancé," Aegor said, setting Arya down from his shoulder and pushing her toward Robb. Before the girl could speak, he added with a smirk, "She even threatened to tell everyone I groped her if I didn’t take her back to Winterfell."

“Heh—” Despite her short hair, Robb immediately recognized his sister. Having grown up with Arya, he knew her temper all too well and didn’t hesitate to trust Aegor’s account over hers. “Alright, Arya, I apologize. It was wrong of me not to consult you about this. But these are extraordinary times, and this marriage alliance is vital… I promise, no one’s going to rush you into marriage.”

“Hmph!” Arya dodged Robb’s attempt to hug her and stormed over to a chair, plopping down. But as soon as she sat, she leapt up again, tears welling in her eyes as she turned away, refusing to look at either of them.

…

In the original timeline, Catelyn Stark had negotiated with the Freys during a critical moment when the Northern army urgently needed to march south. To secure passage, she made several concessions, including agreeing to Arya marrying into the Frey family and Robb taking a Frey bride himself.

But now, with events drastically altered and the Freys already firmly allied with the North, they had proven themselves loyal by leading the charge in battles against the Westerlands. With Robb’s eldest son already married to a Frey, it was inconceivable for the Starks to offer another daughter to a family of lower standing. The Freys had already gained more than they could have hoped for—once was enough.

So, who was Arya’s betrothed this time?

As Arya’s nominal mentor, Aegor felt a sense of responsibility for her, mixed with his natural curiosity. Unable to hold back, he asked, “So, who is her fiancé?”

“Harrold Hardyng, Robert Arryn’s heir. We call him ‘Harry the Heir,’” Robb answered openly, as it was no secret. “It was Grandfather Hoster’s idea. He wrote to me, saying this would solidify the alliance between our three houses.”

“Ah, him.” Aegor nodded in understanding.

After Lysa Tully had been sent back to Riverrun in disgrace following Aegor’s intervention, her son Robert Arryn—the frail and epileptic boy who was also Eddard Stark’s nephew—remained the last blood tie holding the Vale in alliance with the Riverlands and the North. Should Robert die, the foundation of their alliance would crumble, as alliances based purely on friendship were fragile at best. It didn’t help that figures like Yohn Royce, a staunch supporter of the North, had been sent to the Wall after Robert’s paranoia during the recent Vale rebellion.

A marriage between Arya Stark and Harrold Hardyng would ensure that even if Robert Arryn passed away, the future Lady of the Vale would still bear the Stark name. The grand alliance of wolves, fish, and eagles would endure.

Using marriage to stabilize alliances was clearly Hoster Tully’s forte. Given Robert Arryn’s sickly appearance, it wasn’t outlandish to assume he might die before producing an heir. In this light, Arya’s marriage was an extremely serious political arrangement—one that left no room for her whims or rebellion.

…

“A reasonable arrangement,” Aegor said after digesting the details. Putting on the demeanor of a benevolent elder, he added, “But I think the young lady deserves a chance to see her fiancé first.”

“Of course. Here’s what we’ll do: tomorrow, I’ll find an excuse to call Ser Harrold to the conference room downstairs. Arya, you can disguise yourself as a servant and take a good look at your betrothed.” Robb’s eyes twinkled as he glanced at Arya’s tomboyish short hair. He knew this was the only way to avoid an awkward formal meeting. “For what it’s worth, in my opinion, Ser Harrold has a lean and athletic build and a handsome face. Uncle Brynden even said he resembles a young Jon Arryn. Purely in terms of looks, you wouldn’t be slighted.”

Arya shook her head vehemently. “I don’t want to see him! I heard from the soldiers outside—he already has bastards!”

“Bastards…” Robb faltered, the values instilled by his father making him view this as a stain on Harrold’s honor. Yet the marriage’s importance left him no room to waver. “Bastards won’t affect… your children’s claim to the Vale.”

“Screw his claim! Who says I’m having children with him?” Arya stomped her foot, wincing as the movement aggravated her sore backside.

“Language!” Aegor mentally cursed Tyrion for corrupting Arya’s speech and glared at her. “You’ve had the privilege of good food, fine clothes, horses for riding, and instructors for swordsmanship. When you caused trouble, I—a neutral Night’s Watch officer—risked everything to bring you home. Why? Because you’re a Stark! You’ve enjoyed the benefits of your name without complaint. Now, when it’s time to fulfill your duties to your family, you throw a tantrum?”

His words would’ve convinced any reasonable adult, but Arya was no such person. “I don’t care! If you force me to marry him, I’ll… I’ll kill myself!”

“Watch your tongue!” Robb scolded, though his usual affection for Arya dulled any edge in his voice. To her, he still lacked authority, and his words carried less weight than Aegor’s.

“What do you mean by we’re forcing you?” Aegor suddenly realized he had overstepped. It wasn’t his place to meddle in the Starks’ family affairs. Arya’s rejection of the arrangement wasn’t something her swordsmanship instructor should involve himself in—it was like a dog chasing after a mouse, entirely unnecessary.

Coming to this conclusion, Aegor promptly addressed Robb. “Arya has been delivered safely. I’ll prepare to depart for the Golden Tooth tomorrow and escort the Kingslayer to the Wall. Please notify the lords along the King’s Road to ensure we aren’t harassed or attacked by Lannister sympathizers.”

“No problem. I’ll write letters tonight,” Robb replied. “Additionally, I’ll assign a hundred soldiers to ensure you and the Kingslayer reach the Wall safely.”

“Much appreciated. If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave. You and Arya have much to catch up on.”

“Understood.”

As Aegor moved to leave, Arya muttered bitterly, “Why me? Why not Sansa? She’s older than me and loves getting married! Let her be the Lady of the Vale!”

“She’s still Joffrey’s betrothed,” Robb explained with a sigh. “We can’t promise her to Harrold without formally annulling that engagement. Once Joffrey dons the black and the betrothal is universally considered void, we can discuss other arrangements…”

“What?!” Aegor spun on his heel. “Joffrey’s joining the Night’s Watch? You’re putting him on the Wall with the Kingslayer? Aren’t you worried about trouble?”

“All three of his bastards are on Dragonstone. Stannis said it was Father’s wish… Ah, but these are decisions for Father to make once I rescue him from King’s Landing.” Robb’s youthful uncertainty briefly showed before he turned to Aegor again. “On that note, I’ll soon be marching south. It’s unsafe for Arya to stay with the army, but I don’t trust anyone else to escort her. Since you’re heading north, take her back to Winterfell for me. That’ll save me the trouble of assigning another escort.”

“No! He just spanked me!” Arya protested.

“Enough, Arya!” Robb’s patience wore thin. “Either you go with Aegor to Winterfell, or I’ll leave you with your betrothed to be protected during the march. Choose.”

Pouting, Arya glared at Robb, but his expression left no room for negotiation. She cast a begrudging glance at Aegor before muttering, “Fine. I’ll go home.”