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Arya

           Shesweptouttheoldrushesandscatteredfreshsweet-smellingones,laidafreshfireinthehearth,changedthelinensandfluffedthefeatherbed,emptiedthechamberpotsdowntheprivyshaftandscrubbedthemout,carriedanarmloadofsoiledclothingtothewasherwomen,andbroughtupabowlofcrispautumnpearsfromthekitchen.Whenshewasdonewiththebedchamber,shewentdownhalfaflightofstairstodothesameinthegreatsolar,asparedraftyroomaslargeasthehallsofmanyasmallercastle.Thecandlesweredowntostubs,soAryachangedthemout.Underthewindowswasahugeoakentablewherethelordwrotehisletters.Shestackedthebooks,changedthecandles,putthequillsandinksandsealingwaxinorder.

           Alargeraggedsheepskinwastossedacrossthepapers.Aryahadstartedtorollitupwhenthecolorscaughthereye:theblueoflakesandrivers,thereddotswherecastlesandcitiescouldbefound,thegreenofwoods.Shespreaditoutinstead.THELANDSOFTHETRIDENT,saidtheornatescriptbeneaththemap.ThedrawingshowedeverythingfromtheNecktotheBlackwaterRush.There’sHarrenhalatthetopofthebiglake,sherealized,butwhere’sRiverrun?Thenshesaw.It’snotsofar...

           Theafternoonwasstillyoungbythetimeshewasdone,soAryatookherselfofftothegodswood.HerdutieswerelighterasLordBolton’scupbearerthantheyhadbeenunderWeeseorevenPinkeye,thoughtheyrequireddressinglikeapageandwashingmorethansheliked.

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