Arya V

Home at last!

Arya Stark was back in her snug bedchamber at the Dreadfort, well, in a different tower. Lord Domeric said that while the heatwave persisted, they would relocate to the southern tower with windows facing the river. A good breeze came blowing in, really cooling the place off at night. Servants moved all of her things over so she didn't have to do anything at all.

Today she wore a jack of plate over her quilted gambeson, plus gauntlets of lobstered steel as a precaution, considering what they were practicing and all. It was positively sweltering once she really got moving, but in a real battle she wore even heavier gear.

Lord Domeric had it worse, wearing a harness of complete steel, though just plain stuff, not the colored panoply he wore in tourneys.

"Right, you lot," he said in the yard. "Yesterday was regular knightly practice, sword and lance and such. There is nothing knightly about today. Remember, against the Others especially, we aren't above any dirty trick. It's kill or be killed. This is not a foe you can yield to and expect to be ransomed. They're monsters, a sickness. The only cure is to kill them."

She practiced wielding Dark Sister with one hand so she could bear an oaken shield strapped to her off arm. At her left shoulder was Brad, who wielded spear and shield after the Dornish fashion, as they did in their battle. Nymeria loped behind them both, a familiar sight in the yard now, and hardly ever did horses rear and panic when they smelled her these days.

"Which is why," her master continued, "I want you three working together. We don't have enough Valyrian steel to go around, so Brad will have a spear tipped with obsidian. His job is to establish range and keep the Other occupied. Arya and Nymeria will exploit the openings he creates. We've worked on rhythm before, but you three must have a rhythm you share, feeding off what each other is doing and tying every movement into a coherent plan of attack. Brad is our base here. When his spear snaps out, I want Arya to close and try to get a slash with Dark Sister as he withdraws. As for the wolf, sometimes the threat will be enough. I want Nymeria stalking and snapping at my heels, feigning lunges, and distracting me so Arya can get the kill, or maybe Brad if he spots an opening. At the same time, the threat of Arya will prevent the Other from getting inside his spear. Do you all understand what I'm saying?"

"Aye, Ser!" she and Brad answered together in perfect sync. Hopefully, they'd stay in sync for the drill. Nymeria barked assent as well. She was better at taking verbal instructions than any dog, and could often do what Arya wanted if she only visualized it.

"Good, good. Today, I'm an Other. It's time to kill me!" He raised his red sword, which had a new grip, crossguard, and pommel, wrought in the shape of a flayed man in agony. Lord Domeric liked to call the Valyrian blade Razor.

Brad stayed behind his shield, the Dornish way, just like Obara taught, edging forward and lashing out with viper-strike thrusts, particularly at Lord Domeric's helmet to blind him when the blade struck the eye slit on his visor. Arya lurked in his wake, Dark Sister resting light and easy in her gauntleted hand. When Domeric batted away a thrust at the rondel that protected his underarm with the flat of the blade, Arya was on him in half a heartbeat.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! She gave him a good high-low-high combination that he parried before she withdrew behind the ground covered by Brad's spear. It felt good, here at his side. He protected her at long distance while she could guard him close.

With hardly a gesture, Arya sent her wolf to edge around the corner of Ser Domeric's vision, a low grey shape that was swift and silent. He had to retreat and present the point of his blade to prevent her from getting behind him. Nymeria was very, very good at staying just out of range and remaining a threat that demanded attention.

Brad lashed out again, and Arya came right behind his spear.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! This time, she went with high-high-low, and Domeric visually looked to be having more trouble turning aside her slashes. They three drove him back, varying distance and timing, filling his vision with threats at multiple angles. It was perfect, she thought. But, of course, he wasn't the Scalp-Taker for nothing. To use one of Ser Domeric's queer phrases, he went into "high gear" and sped up before her eyes. He moved faster than a man in plate had a right to, dancing away and making them chase. She noticed he was trying to lure them into breaking their formation. Brad noticed too and shortened his strides to stay together.

Gods, they really were in sync.

Remembering past lessons, they deliberately slowed down the tempo of their attack. Lord Domeric's fight was the quick burst, the slash you didn't see. No, they would make him fight at their pace. They settled into a rhythm of steady, determined pressure. Nymeria was still there, stalking. He couldn't ignore her forever. When the wolf darted under his guard, forcing Domeric to spring backwards and lower his weapon to keep the animal at bay, Arya was there with Dark Sister to give his breastplate a good scratch.

The high and deadly sound of Valyrian steel on plain was sweet, and when Domeric raised his blade to answer, he found Brad's spear in his face.

"That's what I'm talking about!" their lord praised them. "You three are one unit, a machine that kills Others. We'll keep working on it the rest of the morning."

Arya suppressed a groan. The higher the sun rose, the hotter it got!

***

After a quick wash in the river, Arya returned to her chambers. In her trunk, she found a summer dress of pink cotton, light and airy. It was a bit tighter than she remembered, but she was a growing girl, as Lord Domeric liked to say. To complete the outfit, she wore a silver chain with a pink diamond that rested on her chest and fastened on the red ruby blooddrop earrings that she liked. A serving girl undid her braid and spent some time brushing out her hair, which was shinier than she remembered. It was lovely to relax a bit after a hard morning in the yard.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on NovelPhoenix.

Dresses and jewels did not dismay her as they once did. She liked the way she looked...and so did Brad. He blushed fiercely when their legs touched at the midday meal.

Complicated feelings stirred in her stomach. On the one hand, she liked that he thought she was pretty, and wasn't that queer? Arya used to be absolutely disgusted with the way Sansa would moon over boys, and the way they mooned over her. Squires and stable boys oft sent Sansa longing looks, and now one was looking at her that way. But it was Brad, so it was fine. There was talk of them marrying, and why not? She would have to marry someday; Arya Stark knew that much, and why not a friend? Why not a boy she trusted?

Hm, mayhaps she would speak to Ser about it. The thing she loved best about the Dreadfort was that there were no stupid questions. Everything had a reason, and Domeric was happy to explain them all. She studied maps and the stars with Maester Tybald to make her a better scout. She learned bookkeeping from Lady Alyx because she would hold lands and a castle one day. Even their training at arms always began with an explanation. "This is how to fight such and such," or "you would use this technique if you came across this kind of foe," and so on.

The wisdom of Lord Domeric's lessons was plain. She'd used them in every battle, from Lannisport to Fair Isle, Harlaw, and the Fist. He always made his "commander's intent" clear and obvious. Confusion was the worst thing in a battle. If you knew your place, what was expected of you, and why, it was easier to be brave. He would anticipate difficulties and prepare against them, like the swimming lessons before they faced the Iron Fleet. Arya knew very well that the things she'd practiced today would really work should they face the Others again. Suddenly, they did not seem so scary.

After she completed her afternoon lessons, the rest of the day was her own, but Lord Domeric often worked into the night. She climbed the tower steps leading to his solar and knocked.

"Enter," he said uneasily, then his stiff shoulders relaxed when he saw who it was. "Arya, am I ever glad you aren't someone else."

She blinked. "Has there been trouble, my lord?"

"Some," he answered. "My bastard brother was committing crimes, and there have been a few other incidents with the wildlings. Alyx can handle the giants, thank goodness, but who knows when something worse might happen? While everybody is busy plowing and planting, I don't expect much, but when we have thousands of idle folk walking around..."

Suddenly Arya felt terribly petty. Her lord had larger cares than her. "Another time, perhaps."

She made to take her leave, but he stopped her with a gesture. "No, no, Arya, you came here for a reason. I told you, you can bring any problem to me. It might be a nice distraction from all this justice and disputes."

Arya shut the door behind her, and he offered her a seat. There was no easy way to begin, so she got right to the point. "I think Brad is in love with me."

Her lord nodded gravely. "Tomboy childhood friend is a hell of a drug," he muttered queerly. "And you don't love him; is that the issue? Arya, you're eleven."

"I'm almost twelve!" she retorted hotly.

He rolled his eyes. "Arya, nobody is going to force you to do anything." Domeric tilted his head, as if remembering. "Well, I do force you to do things, but they're for your own good. You want to grow up big and strong, don't you?"

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "I never said I didn't want to marry him. Maybe I do. I don't love Brad, not yet, anyway, but I trust him. And what's a tomboy?"

"A girl who likes boy things. One of the main problems of our society is not letting tomboys be themselves. If a girl would rather have a sword than a knitting needle, I say why not? You're getting pretty good."

She blushed at his praise. "That makes me very happy, my lord."

Domeric studied her for a moment. "You trust him, you said. I could tell you were on the same page today, and you've been in more than a few fights, taken turns saving one another. That was enough for Al and Elia."

"I do trust him," Arya stated with growing confidence, remembering how easy it was to rely on him in combat. "And, well, I trust him in other ways, you know? Al never tried to change Elia, even after they married. Brad wouldn't try to change me either. That's the only sort of man I'd want."

There was understanding in his eyes. Arya could tell. "Well, it is years before you need to make a final decision, but you should also remember that you're a Stark of Winterfell."

A sudden fear settled into her gut. "You think Father wouldn't agree?"

Her lord waved a hand dismissively. "Nah. It's actually a good match. Any children you have with Brad would be first cousins to mine with Alyx. That would be a way, sort of a roundabout way, to forge closer ties between Stark and Bolton. I mean, since you're a Stark, you need important lands, and I think I've got just the place."

Arya's eyes went wide. "You do?"

"I do. We're building a port at the mouth of the Weeping Water. With giant labor, we could build a goodly castle and dredge a deep harbor. Dreadport will be its name. How does House Stark of the Dreadport sound?"

She loved it! "We could have our own banner, couldn't we? I'd like a grey direwolf on pink." She slid a hand down the sleeve of her dress. "Pink is my color, don't you think?"