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Arya Stark sat at the funeral. She didn't want to be there. She barely knew the man she was paying her respects to, but she knew that he was a good friend of her father's, so she would be as respectful as she could, but...her hair was really annoying her. She couldn't stop fiddling with it. The stylists had put it into a long braid that pulled her scalp uncomfortably. If they had let her get her hair cut short like she asked, this wouldn't be a problem, but [i]noooooo,[/i] that wasn't ladylike. She sighed, and put her hands to her lap as Cersei gave her speech. At least they did a good job with the dress; plain, back, and stopped at her knees. She couldn't walk easily in skirts or dresses any longer than that, especially not in black prism heels that were high enough to make her look 'normal' at the cost of making every step feel like playing Russian Roulette with her ankle bones.

As the speech was going on, she edged closer to her sister, and whispered "Where's the imp?" She had not seen Tyrion beside his family during the funeral.