Arya I

They sat her at the "kids' table!" Arya Stark wasn't a kid! She was nine! Well, at least the food was good, mostly. Dishes alternated between rich, heavy Northern ones and Dornish food that was spicy, sweet, or sometimes both at once. Perros Blackmont, who was of an age with her, said he'd been "assigned" by Ser Domeric to help them with the Dornish food, whatever that meant. Mainly, he had a flagon of cold milk at the ready to wash the heat out, if they needed it. She only needed it once. That broth of lizard lions and lemons had her almost weeping, but the rest she could handle without a problem. Those spicy boiled shellfish were lovely. You ripped the head off and sucked the meat right out of the shell. Sansa hated it, which Arya loved. The best things by far were the "fusion" dishes where they combined Northern and Dornish ingredients. There was one with meat, cheese, onions, spices, and a yellow sauce rolled up in flatbread that might've been the most delicious thing she'd ever eaten at any feast. Sansa loved it too, though she tried not to seem like she loved it too much. And yes, Domeric Bolton was a very good singer. He'd visited Winterfell a few times, usually with his father, aunt, or both. Lord Bolton was speaking with Father on the dais to the left of the bride and groom, smiling wider than she had ever seen. Seeing Roose Bolton smile was queer, like watching a wolf eat lemoncakes. It didn't fit. Even if Ser Domeric's voice was good, most of the songs were about love and princesses and kissing. That was Sansa's thing, not hers. Arya wanted war! Sing about your battles in the Vale! That was what she wanted, or at least Nymeria's ten thousand ships. He played with his other squire, Alesander Frey, who was of an age with Robb and Jon but bigger than either. There were drummers with three kinds of drums, a fiddler, and two pipers. All of Barrow Hall, wooden and smoky, was filled with song. At least the Dornish kids were friendly, some too friendly. Arya had caught Robb kissing Jynessa Blackmont half a hundred times in the fortnight they waited for the wedding, and a girl named Carmyn Uller had even dragged Jon off somewhere. Nobody had seen Theon in a while, now that she thought of it. Bran was the only one with the right priorities. He wanted to meet Ser Domeric, and that meant meeting Lady Lance!Only, well, Domeric Bolton had been terribly busy, they said. Most of the wedding was his doing. His two squires followed him everywhere, always heading someplace and with no time for a quick word or anything. Mostly, she played with the Dornish children. They had a lot of fun games in Dorne, like snakebite. In snakebite, one kid was the "snake," and he chases everyone. If he touched you, then YOU become the snake! Boys and girls and bastards all loved it. Oh, that was another thing. Bastards were fine in Dorne. Even Lady Lance, whose real name was Elia Sand, was a bastard, but she was a squire! She wore breeches and mail! She was the hero of Arya's existence and everything she always dreamed of being. If Arya became a squire, she'd take Jon to Dorne and never do needlework again. Everyone was merry until Ser Domeric sang a sad song about an orphan on the Greenblood missing Mother Rhoyne. Every Dornishman in the hall began weeping. "It's okay," she said helplessly to Perros Blackmont. Patting him on the back did nothing. He was such a strong boy. Even the spicy lizard lion broth didn't make him weep. Why could a sad song do what the broth couldn't? She looked around, quite unsure what to do, and saw even Lady Lance was weeping at another table. Well, she was Dornish. Dornish were quick with laughs, quick to anger, quick to forgive, and, seemingly, quick to tears. Arya's idol wore a pink silk dress for the wedding. Even if it was a manly color, a color for warriors, the Myrish lace made her look terribly girly. Lady Lance sat with three other women, all wearing pink gowns and covered in jewels. Only Lady Dustin, or Martell, maybe, wore more jewels today. Jynessa Blackmont was weeping on Robb's shoulder, and he looked quite as lost as she felt. They'd been flirting disgustingly like it was their wedding until now. When the song finally ended, she wiped her eyes. "My lady, are you well?" Robb asked. "Yes," Lady Jynessa sniffled. "All Dorne loves Domeric Bolton, you know. He wrote that song just for us.""You love him for making you weep?" Arya piped up. Really, Dornish were hard to understand sometimes. "You'll understand someday, Arya," Jynessa answered without explaining, and squeezed Robb's hand. Ugh! The following song was something more fun, a fast song about "never giving you up." Arya liked to pretend it was about battle instead of love. When they served the next course, a sweatbread with spiced nuts baked inside it, most of the Dornish eyes had dried. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation."Who are those women sitting with Lady Lance?" Arya asked."Ser Domeric's women," Jynessa Blackmont explained. "See how they wear his colors? The short one is Mordaena Solel, his Braavosi concubine. The tall one is Alyx Frey, his betrothed. The skinny one with the braid is Nymeria Sand." There was a quizzical look on her face. "I suppose she is his paramour, though Lady Nym denies it." "That's Lady Lance's sister, right? Is Lady Lance one of Domeric Bolton's women?" "No," Jynessa answered. "Ser Domeric has sworn there will be only three. Elsewise, many of the maidens in this hall would never let him rest.""Even you?" Robb asked a little sulkily. Jynessa scratched him under the chin. "Don't be jealous, my lord. You are fairer of face, and have lovely auburn hair. Hardly any lads in Dorne look like you." They went back to flirting, and Arya couldn't bear to hear any more. Some of the kids got up to go visit with their relatives at other tables, so Arya pretended to do the same. When she got close to the table where the pink ladies all sat, a big boy outpaced her and sat down heavily. "Phew. Ser dismissed me to go eat. He can handle the songs alone for a while," said Alesander Frey. "Eat fast," Lady Lance said shortly. "I want to dance." "Elia..." Alesander whined. "I only just sat down." "I said I want to dance, Al! Ser is switching to the fun, faster songs now, perfect for dancing. Now hurry up." She pushed a plate in front of him. "See? We saved you some of those spicy crawfish from the Neck you like." The dark, plump woman sitting next to her chuckled. Arya noticed she was holding a baby. "Best hurry up, lad. That sounded like an order to me." Arya just stood there dumbly, unsure what to say, until the woman noticed her. "Can I help you, child?" This was it. Now or never! "I want to meet Lady Lance!" Elia looked up from where she was watching Alesander Frey eat. "Oh? Hello. I'm Elia Sand. Who might you be?""Arya Stark. I want to be a squire!" That seemed to amuse her. "How old are you, Arya?" "...eleven," she lied. "Well, if you want to be a squire, you've got to find a ser who will take you on. It helps if you're kin. See up there on the dais? The groom is my father. Since he's marrying Ser Domeric's aunt...""I'll marry whoever Ser Domeric wants if he'll take me to squire!" she said breathlessly. "Have you been in battles?" Lady Lance's eyes darkened. "Aye, some. Al and I have seen many a battle at Ser Domeric's side. It's not all glory, I warn you. War means sleeping on hard ground, eating hard bread, and holding your ground when others would flee. It's not half so amusing as you imagine. One time, a wild man almost..." "Please don't scare the girl, Elia," said the skinny girl, though Arya noticed she had a small bump on her belly. "I'm not!" Lady Lance declared. "A girl should know what she's getting into." She turned back to Arya. "Some men will think you can't fight, but some have better sense. I went to war with Ser Domeric and Al. It was frightening sometimes, but I learned to depend on them, and they on me. You'll never trust anyone the way you trust the men you went to war with." A song with a hard, driving rhythm that made you just want to tap your toes started up, and Elia yanked Alesander Frey away from the table. "Dancing, now!" So they danced. Everyone danced, even Arya. She danced with boys her own age, even older boys, and some girls too. Nobody really cared. When she thought she might faint from dancing so much, Ser Domeric took a break himself and walked over to the table with his ladies and squires. "Right, Al, Elia. We've got a few more days of fun, then it's back on the road for us. There's going to be a tourney, a big one. It's Prince Joffrey's name day, and the prize is twenty thousand. You hear? Twenty!" The bride and groom and Lady Ellaria retired to their chambers without a bedding, but hardly anyone noticed. The dancing was still going on when Arya could take no more and stumbled back to the New Tower with sore feet. Neither Robb nor Jon returned that night. Must've been dancing.

On the day they left for home, Ser Domeric himself presented her and Sansa with wonderful white handbags with grey direwolves embroidered on them. Every lady who came got a guest gift. He even sent them on their way with a third one for their mother. That was kind. She and Sansa almost lost their voice from thanking him so much.