19: Chapter 19: “Sorry, ser.
You can’t leave just yet.
Lord Stark wants to see you.” Aragorn had figured dropping Arya off at Winterfell would be the end of it.
Clearly he’d been wrong.
When the Warden of the North summoned you, you didn’t say no.
He ran a hand through his black hair and tried to shift his mood.
“May I ask why Lord Stark wants to see me?” The servant’s brow furrowed at the question, but he didn’t answer.
He just turned.
“This way.” Aragorn followed, hoping he wouldn’t embarrass himself.
The great hall doors swung open.
Guards stood in neat rows on either side.
On the throne at the far end sat Eddard Stark—black hair, gray eyes, maybe thirty-five.
The same man he’d met in the snow.
“Aragorn.
This is the second time we’ve met.
Thank you for bringing Arya home.” Ned’s voice carried clean and steady through the hall.
He looked solid, eyes sharp with life.
Aragorn walked forward, dropped to one knee at the servant’s quiet signal.
“It was the right thing to do, my lord.” “Your name suggests noble blood.
Your archery is exceptional.
Who taught you?” The question caught Aragorn off guard.
He lifted his head.
Ned waited.
“I’m an orphan.
The man who taught me archery gave me his name before he died of illness.
I took it as my own.” Ned studied him for a long moment, then gave a small nod.
Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.
“It’s a good name.” Aragorn managed a quiet, “Thank you, my lord.” Keeping the proper form was harder than he expected.
This wasn’t like the open court at White Harbor.
Here the pressure sat heavier.
“Maester Luwin, see that he receives a hundred silver stags.” “Thank you, my lord.” Just like that, Aragorn walked out with a solid purse.
He thought that was it.
Then Ned spoke again.
“Serve under me.
I’ll make you a ranger for the hunting grounds.” “Don’t answer too quickly.
Think on it.
Your skill with a bow is too good to waste.” Aragorn’s stomach tightened.
He’d planned to keep moving, not plant roots.
“If you ever want to leave, you’re free to go.
No chains.” When the Lord of Winterfell put it like that, refusing would’ve been stupid.
“I’d be honored to serve House Stark, my lord.” And just like that, he had a room inside Winterfell.
He was walking the corridor toward the outer yard when Theon Greyjoy stepped out and blocked his path.
“You’re lucky, you know.
A commoner catching Lord Stark’s eye like that.” Theon’s tone carried that familiar arrogance.
“I’m well aware, Lord Greyjoy.” “Back home, stealing a lord’s game gets you drowned.” Theon smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
Aragorn kept his voice even.
“You saw what happened that day, my lord.
The deer was mine.
I meant no disrespect to northern custom, and I’m grateful Lord Stark judged it fairly.” Theon seemed pleased by the respectful tone.
Men like him were easy to handle once you fed their pride.
“Still,” Theon said, lifting his chin, “if you’re going to work here, learn which people are worth knowing.
That’s how you get ahead.” He turned and swaggered off without waiting for an answer.
Aragorn shook his head and started walking again.
A small figure burst out of the shadows beside him.
“Did Theon give you trouble?” Arya demanded, eyes narrowed.
“He’s not as friendly as he pretends.” Aragorn smiled faintly.
“He was fine, Arya.
Just gave me some advice about how things work here.
No harm done.” She crossed her arms, unconvinced.
“Hmph.
Theon being nice?
I don’t buy it.
He likes pushing people around.
Don’t let him trick you.” “I’m all right.
Really.” She studied him another second, then her expression shifted.
“You took me as your student.
Stop calling me ‘miss.’ Just Arya.” “All right.
Arya.” “That’s better.” She grinned, then turned serious again.
“Master, you said you’re a traveler.
Did your family agree to that?” “They’re gone.” “Gone from here?
Or from wherever you came from?” “I don’t know.
I’ve been on my own as long as I can remember.” Arya went quiet for a moment, thinking.
Then her eyes lit up.
“Then just live here in the castle.
You can watch my training every day and make sure I don’t slack off.” “Lord Stark already gave me the ranger post.” “That sounds boring.
Will you even have time to teach me?
What if I give up?” Aragorn thought fast.
He remembered the old story of Nymeria—the warrior queen who crossed the sea with ten thousand ships and claimed Dorne.
If anything would light a fire under this girl, it was a woman who refused to quit.
“Arya, I believe in you.
Someone who admires Nymeria doesn’t give up easily.” Her whole face changed.
The name hit like a spark.
She looked up at him, eyes shining with something fierce and hopeful.
“But… I can still come find you when you’re not working, right?” “Of course.
Outside duty hours.” “Master forever!” she shouted, loud enough to echo down the corridor.
Aragorn couldn’t help laughing.
Winterfell had just gotten a lot more interesting.