Arya II

"Why do I have to wear a dress? I want to be a knight, not a lady!"

Ser sighed. It hurt to hear. He was the last person Arya wanted to disappoint. Well, other than Lady Lance.

There were other sers in their group, Ser Alesander, Ser Elia, but there was only one true Ser. When any of them said "Ser," it meant Ser Domeric, the Ser.

"You've got to start unlearning these Andal superstitions, Arya," he told her. Ser pointed across their camp. Lady Lance was resting her head on Al's shoulder while he strummed a lute quietly. "See there? Elia is no less a lady for being a knight. She knows her courtesies, and knows when to wear a dress. She can handle herself in battle, when men are screaming and dying, and she can handle herself at court or guesting under the roof of any highborn lord. She knows her letters and sums as well as swords and lances. You are my responsibility now, and I mean to make sure you know everything she knows by the time you're her age."

Arya frowned slightly. "What about needlework?"

Ser Domeric waved a dismissive hand. "Pointless waste of time. My aunt has a seamstress at Barrowton who makes all her dresses. She'll do the same for you. Once we get back there, I'll have her take your measure. I bought a truly ridiculous amount of pink silk a while back, and it will serve for making you a nice new dress for my wedding. Now, learning how to mend a tear in your breeches is something we all need to know how to do, boys and girls both."

She nodded. That made sense. "Dancing at Robb's wedding was nice, and Lady Barbrey's too."

"There you go," Ser said approvingly. "Alesander has a pretty big responsibility this time. He'll have to handle most of the music, since I'll be busy with my bride. We've been betrothed long enough. It's past time. The wedding would've already happened if not for the war."

"Will it be in Barrowton?" Arya asked. That was one thing she really liked about Ser. He never got tired of answering her questions, no matter how many she asked.

"Not this time. The main keep for the new stone Barrow Hall is only half done. I swear, nearly all the stonemasons in the North are working on it day and night. They want to have it livable by winter. Holding a wedding there would get in their way. Besides, I'm heir to the Dreadfort, and Alyx will be Lady Bolton. We'll be based out of there for the foreseeable future."

"Is it a scary place?" Arya almost hesitated to ask, but it was called the Dreadfort. That's the name of a scary place, for true.

Ser considered for a moment. "It can be, but my father lets me do pretty much whatever I want. Men fear the flayed man on our banners, and there are some things like that at the Dreadfort. In the great hall, the torches that line the walls are held by skeletal hands. When I was a boy, I thought that was pretty cool, actually..."

What a queer choice of words. "Cool?"

Her master froze. "Uh, well, let's say interesting, or impressive. It gives guests a good idea about what we Boltons are about, you see. The banners aren't a joke. Our Blades Are Sharp. We're warriors. I've killed a lot of men, you know, which reminds me. You're due for heart-hardening training."

"Heart-hardening?" she squeaked.

"You might weep at first," he said, not unkindly. "Bradamar too. He's a sweet boy. You'll be needing to kill some pigs and chickens yourself. Hold the animal in your hands, cut its throat, watch it bleed and die. You'll get a chance when the kitchens are preparing for the wedding feast."

Arya could do that, easy!

Something on her face must've betrayed her, because Ser Domeric gave her a skeptical look. "We'll see. There will be hunting, too. You need practice riding over wild country, tracking something, and sinking a spear into it. It's not just for fun. That wolf of yours might be a great help, actually." He nodded firmly. "Yes, hunting and tracking with that wolf of yours is something you absolutely need to learn. You'll make a fine scout or outrider, might even lead a van of your own someday."

Arya hugged Nymeria around the neck. The wolf was as big as a hound now, but the kennelmaster at Winterfell said she'd get a lot bigger. "I promise I'll learn!" This was just the sort of thing she wanted! Running wild and free with Nymeria was what she was meant to do.

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"Feeling fired up, huh? How about sword practice? Brad, get over here!"

The boy came running. They were of an age and height, though he often got nervous around her. Probably the wolf. Well, he'd get used to Nymeria with them on the road all the time. Would they get married? Lady Lance said fighting battles together would make them fall in love.

Nah. Arya didn't like boys, not like Sansa. She loved her wolf and her sword more than any boy.

Ser handed them each a wooden sword out of the chest he'd been sitting on. "You two are in luck. I learned a lot of lessons training Al and Elia. I mean to do even better this time."

Arya tilted her head to the side and tested the weight of the sword. There was a lead core within to give it extra weight. After a session of swinging it, her arms and shoulders ached terribly, but it was a sweet ache. She even liked the blisters growing on her hands.

"What did you learn, Ser?" Brad asked, almost too softly to hear.

"Speak up, boy; on a windy day like this I can barely hear you."

"What did you learn, Ser?" Brad asked again, louder this time.

"What you need." Ser had a stick in his hands that he used to adjust their stance. With little pokes and prods and pushes, he moved them into place. "You'll both learn to fight, but in different styles. If Crakehall blood breeds true, which I don't doubt, Brad will grow into a bull of a man. Being big and strong is good. There are ways to use it in a fight." He turned to Arya. "But that isn't the way I fight. Speed and skill are my way, plus balance and, above all, timing."

"Like Lady Lance, right?" Arya asked excitedly. Staying still in her fighting stance was starting to make her thighs burn, but that was the price of strength. Their first week together was standing and stepping and holding a sword the proper way. She and Brad practiced slash-and-parry too, but in "slow motion," as Ser Domeric called it. "Smooth is fast" was what he said, and after they did it right, slowly, half a hundred times, he'd let them speed up, but if technique suffered, they had to slow down again.

"That's right, Arya. Elia is never beating Al in a shoving match, and sometimes that's what battle comes down to. She needs to move and use her horse to put her where she needs to be, when she needs to be. Timing is everything. That's today's lesson." He called out over his shoulder. "Al, beat out a cadence on those cowhide drums, standard time, if you please."

"Aye, Ser!"

The beat made Arya want to tap her feet. Ser noticed and smiled. "Good. Feel the rhythm, let it flow through you. That's the way. You too, Brad. 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4, again and again. Now, slash and parry in time with the beat. 1-2-3-4."

So they did. It was actually pretty fun! Almost like they were dancing. They took turns. One did the slashing, the other the parrying.

"Now change it up," Ser instructed. "Brad, you're slashing on 2 and 4; do it on 1 and 3."

That was a little harder, and a few times they were off-beat before they got the hang of it.

"Everyone has their own internal rhythm. If you know this, you can exploit it. Arya, when he's about to swing on 3, nail him on 2-and-a-half."

1-2-Whack!

"Ow! Arya, that hurt!" Brad shook out his arm and rubbed the tender spot where she'd swatted him with her wooden sword.

"The time will come when you'll be able to sense the rhythm of your opponent. It might take years, but the time will come. If you can feel his rhythm, you'll know when he's about to attack, and you'll know when he's open. For me, it's pretty much instinctive. Good fighters know their own rhythm and can change it at will to make themselves more unpredictable. Timing is everything, Arya, Brad. Time your opponent and swing between his swings. Make him dance to your tune. If you know the person you're fighting, you can lead them into mistakes and bait them into openings. For me, my axe is already biting into their mail when their sword is out of position, defending a blow they anticipated but never came. Before we supp tonight, we're going to practice fighting to a rhythm and changing it. Fighting is a song, a dance. You two will dance this dance."

She liked it! She really liked it! Arya wanted to dance every day! She wouldn't complain at all when Lady Barbrey's seamstress made her a new dress.