Chapter 517

"Arya!" Myrcella didn’t waste a second questioning who "he" was. Instead, she bolted forward. "Don’t do anything stupid!"

She wasn’t as strong as Arya, and she didn’t feel ashamed to admit it. But the two of them were roughly the same height and weight, so as long as she could grab Arya around the waist and hold on tight, she could stop this furious little assassin.

That was the plan, at least. What Myrcella hadn’t anticipated was Arya’s decisiveness. This time, the younger Stark wasn’t in the mood to wrestle. With Needle clutched tightly in one hand, Arya used her free hand to give Myrcella a shove, sending her stumbling backward. Myrcella lost her balance and only stopped when she hit the edge of the bed.

All three girls froze.

Arya seemed momentarily startled by her own strength and muttered an apology under her breath, though her anger quickly reasserted itself. Sansa, meanwhile, was stunned speechless by the sight of her sister brandishing a blade, looking as though she might leap into battle at any second.

As for Myrcella, the shove had triggered an unwelcome memory—the day her life had changed forever. Back in the Red Keep, in the queen’s chambers, she had desperately tried to mediate during her mother’s confrontation with her two "fathers." She had done everything she could to de-escalate the situation, but it had all been for nothing.

Was history doomed to repeat itself tonight? Was she about to watch the Starks and Aegor—two sides she cared deeply about—tear each other apart until only one was left standing?

"I'm sorry..." Arya’s good manners surfaced for a brief moment, but the apology was swallowed by her simmering rage. Without looking back, she took a deep breath and stormed out of the room.

Snapping out of her memories, Myrcella gritted her teeth and made a decision: no matter the cost, she would not let this end in tragedy.

"Sansa, stop standing there and come help me chase her!"

The eldest Stark sister, for all her usual composure, had been reduced to indecision by the chaos. But Myrcella’s commanding tone broke through her hesitation. Sansa quickly nodded, threw on a coat, and followed her out the door.
----


Despite their haste, the girls worried they wouldn’t catch up in time. But as they hurried down the stairs, they were greeted by a reassuring sight: the keep’s guard captain, Haris Moran, and his men were faithfully carrying out Robb’s orders, blocking the enraged Arya at the main doors.

"The rebels are attacking the castle, and you’re hiding behind the door like a coward?!" Arya fumed, glaring up at the unyielding captain.

Unfazed, Haris responded calmly, "If Lord Robb ordered me to be a coward, then I’d gladly hide behind this door until the end of the world."

"You—you—you..." Arya stammered, infuriated by his unapologetic response. "You’ve got less courage than a girl! Fine, stay behind your door. I’ll go out and deal with them myself!"

Relying on sheer force, Arya tried to push past him. She even managed to make him take a step back. But that was as far as she got. Haris wasn’t just any guard—he was a seasoned warrior.

He let her push him back a step, only to brace himself against the door. "Miss, you have two choices: go back to your room willingly, or I’ll carry you there myself."

Arya’s temper flared, and without another word, she stepped back, raised Needle, and took up a fighting stance. "If you don’t move, don’t blame me for what happens next!"

"Arya, stop this nonsense!" A commanding female voice cut through the tension, coming from the staircase. Descending swiftly were two women—Catelyn Stark and her daughter-in-law, Talisa.

"Mother, I—" Arya turned to defend herself, but the momentary distraction was all Haris needed. With a swift motion, he twisted her wrist and snatched Needle from her grasp.

"Miss, allow me to offer you two pieces of advice," he said, holding the sword high above her reach. "First, if you lack the resolve to use a blade, don’t draw it. Second, never turn your back on someone while threatening them with a weapon."

"Give it back!" Arya shouted, ignoring her mother’s sharp glare as she lunged for her sword.

Haris kept Needle out of reach, even as Catelyn and Talisa descended the last few steps. As Catelyn approached, Arya hesitated, glancing between her mother and the guard.

"You’ll never get it back unless you apologize," Myrcella whispered urgently, taking the opportunity to seize Arya’s arm. "Just admit you were wrong!"

"What?" Arya hissed.

"Think about it! It’s pitch dark outside. Do you even know where to find Aegor to kill him?"

The question made Arya pause. Myrcella pressed on, her voice low but insistent. "Two possibilities: either he doesn’t get into Winterfell, and you won’t find him no matter where you look. Or he does get in—but the keep is the most important part of the castle. If he’s coming anywhere, it’ll be here. Stay put, and you’ll have your chance."

Arya blinked, processing the logic. It made sense. Grudgingly, she muttered, "But my sword—"

"Apologize to your mother and promise you’ll only use Needle for self-defense. That’s the only way you’ll get it back."

Before Arya could respond, Catelyn reached her, her expression stern. Myrcella nudged Arya again, and reluctantly, she turned to face her mother. "I’m sorry," Arya mumbled. "I’ll only use Needle to protect myself. I promise I won’t cause any more trouble."

Catelyn studied her daughter for a moment, then nodded to Haris. "Give it back to her. And remember—no one enters or leaves this keep unless Robb himself orders it."

"As you command, my lady," Haris replied, handing Needle back to Arya. "Anyone who tries will have to step over my corpse."
----


A few minutes later, Arya, grumbling but slightly pacified, followed Myrcella and Sansa back to their room. She still seethed with frustration, but at least she had her sword again.

"What were those thunderclaps earlier?" Sansa asked as they re-entered the room. The question was more to herself than anyone else, and she immediately hurried to the window to look outside.

What she saw made her gasp.

Through the northeastern-facing window, the girls could see the gates of Winterfell wide open. The two "snakes" of torchlight they had glimpsed earlier were now inside the walls. Part of the rebel force was already clashing with the night watchmen, while another section seemed to be advancing straight toward the keep.

"The rebels… they’re already inside Winterfell!" Sansa’s voice trembled with fear.

Myrcella’s heart raced. How had they breached the gates so quickly? And if Aegor had such means, why did he even need her to set that fire?

But there was no time to dwell on these questions. Seeing Arya’s grip tighten on her sword, Myrcella quickly grabbed her arm. "Don’t do anything rash! Aegor is probably still outside, commanding his troops. If you stay here, you’ll have your chance when he comes for the keep. Trust me."

Though Arya didn’t entirely trust her, the logic was undeniable. She hesitated, then nodded reluctantly, her fiery determination momentarily tempered.