He was so annoying. Whenever anything happened between her and her brother, he mother always sided with him. Sure he looked all sweet and innocent, but underneath those doe-eyes and cute smile, she knew he was a mischievous little boy who loved to get his older sister in trouble, no matter the occasion.
She remembered when he would steal her sweets after dinner, scarfing them down inside the little cupboard in the kitchens, and when he returned to the table with chocolate smudged on his cheeks and chin their mother, father, brothers, and sister would laugh at the way he stuck his tongue out at her and licked his lips.
She remembered when he would on her for EVERYTHING she did, even after she bribed him to not tell their parents.
She would wake up early to the sound of him screaming and throwing a fit for the dumbest reasons.
The little brat hid behind corners and scare her, hide bugs in her bed and leave her to pick up the mess, trying not wake up her parents as she chased him around the halls, fuming.
He would embarrass her in front of Mycha, her friend and the boy she had a crush.
When she went to King’s Landing and he stayed home, she was totally thrilled. Not a single ounce of her body missed the little vixen.
But when her father died and she was kidnapped, hauled across Westeros before fleeing to Bravos, that sinking feeling her stomach couldn't have meant she missed him, right?
She hated him, and he hated her. She was lucky to have left him, and he was more than relieved when she left for King’s Landing and never came back.
“Did ya ‘ear ‘bout that Stark boy? Killed by Ramsey Bolton ‘n the Battle o’ the Bastards.” she overheard as a drunker slurred his words, talking to his drinking buddy by his side.
All of the sudden, memories came flooding back to her. Powerful memories.
For her eighth name-day, her little brother gave her a wooden sword that was just the perfect weight and balance for her, and actually let her eat her dessert that night, and she went to sleep peacefully with no ants or crickets in her hair.
Once, during a particularly rough storm, he burst into her room and jumped on her bed, flinging himself into her arms. She whispered that ‘the storm will pass’ and ‘it’s okay’ into his ear all night until he fell asleep.
And when she left Winterfell before she hopped in the carriage to leave, she hugged her mother goodbye, and her mother told her to suck it up and tell him goodbye.
So she walked right up to him and leaned down to meet his height. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” he looked down as he wrapped his little arms around her middle. “If you don’t come back by the next moon, I get your room.” he smirked, then whispered so softly, “I love you,” she almost couldn’t hear it.
She just shook her head. “Love you too.” She let go of him and turned around, jumping into the carriage next to Sansa.
It was then and then that Arya realized really missed him with all of her heart, or least what was left of it. Once she caught up with Hot Pie at the inn she headed outside, mounting her horse.
Arya turned her steed in the direction of King’s Landing but hesitated. He was dead and she would never see him again, but she couldn’t abandon him again. She turned her horse North toward Winterfell.
“I’m coming home Rickon, I promise.”