Fanfiction only. I own no part of Game of Thrones.

A/N: Canon shows that by the time Arya Stark returns to Winterfell, she is right around 17 (b. 289 AC) and has passed the cusp of adulthood. Sandor Clegane (b. 270 or 271 AC) is around 35 or 36. As a point of reference, the Red Wedding was in 299 AC.

The Measure of Men

Arya stood on the battlements of Winterfell surveying the tundra that was the North. Countless frigid hours had passed as she kept her watch. While the wind scoured the flesh from her bones, she told herself that it was her brother, the King of the North, for whom she watched. Relief, mingled with blackest, gut-twisting shame, swept through her when her eyes fell upon the Hound.

Arya tore her eyes away from his scowling, scarred face, and she scanned Jon's other companions. She pressed her lips tightly together when she noticed Beric Dondarrion and Gendry Waters riding side by side. If they had made their peace with one another, so be it. She allowed the debt to slide away, another death relinquished to the hands of the Many Faced God. There were more important, more urgent, debts to repay.

Arya descended the narrow stair that would lead her into the courtyard. She concealed herself in the shadows as Jon led his party through the gates. She fingered the supple flesh of one of her faces beneath her cloak, but discarded the impulse almost immediately. It would do her little good so long as she was wearing her father's refashioned brigadine and furs.

Upon riding into the courtyard, the Hound turned Stranger's head so that the enormous black charger turned tightly on the spot. He peered into every shadow, looking intently. When Sansa hailed him, he grimaced in annoyance and spurred the horse into one more tight circle before dismounting. He handed his reins over to a stable lad. Clegane tossed one last piercing glance around the courtyard before squelching through the sludge towards the Lady of Winterfell, waiting to welcome her guests.

Arya sighed in relief. There was much to be said between them, but she'd not have it said with all the North listening. Besides, if he was of a mind to disembowel her, she'd rather he did it in private.

Jon followed Clegane soon after, but not without his own searching glance around the courtyard. Arya fled before he could spot her. Jon was her favorite brother, but she wanted to delay their reunion as long as possible. The sweet girl he sought had had her heart cut out at the feet of Baelor. All that remained was the killer. Jon would understand, but she dreaded having to endure his disappointment.

As happened so often now, Arya withdrew from the society of Winterfell into its margins. Though it was coming back to life, she spent much of her time lurking in the shadows and listening to the many whispers that echoed through the halls. This time, her boots carried Arya to the side of the keep where Sansa would have Jon's companions quartered. Two tittering chamber maids were backing into the corridor with a basket of linens between them and didn't notice her approach.

"Did you see the Lady's guests?"

The older girl tossed a neat bronze braid over her shoulder and smirked. "Oooh, I did, but they looked a mess, that lot! One of 'em only had one eye and another one was big as a tree wi' half his face burned away. Horrible!"

The lass beamed up at the older girl. "Ser Gendry, though, he's almost as pretty as the king hisself!"

"Wasn't he just! Our Jon sure keeps fearsome comp'ny. Still, men like that, on the road for weeks, gets a girl thinking—"

Arya cleared her throat pointedly, and the maids whipped around and goggled at her, red-faced and pop-eyed. The younger of the two maids dropped her end of the basket of linens and offered an awkward curtsy, allowing sheets to tumble onto the damp floor. Arya folded her hands placidly behind her back as she advanced.

"His Grace rides with some of the bravest warriors, some of the very finest men, in all of Westeros. I'm terribly sorry if they don't meet your standards, but we expect them to be treated with the same courtesies you would extend to the King of the North himself."

The younger girl scrambled to pick up the spilled sheets. "Yes, milady."

The older girl dropped a rough curtsy. "We weren't seeing you there. Sorry, miss."

Arya looked down at them coldly. "Those men have spent weeks north of the Wall defending your life. They deserve your respect, no matter who is in earshot . . . or what they look like."

She looked down sullenly. "Yes, milady."

Arya gestured with her chin down the corridor. "Which room has been set for Clegane?" The girls looked at one another in confusion. Arya narrowed her eyes slightly. Crisply, she elaborated, "The one big as a tree with half his face burned off."

The younger girl bent to retrieve the linens. "Please, milady, Lady Sansa said he'd be best off by hisself. He'll be in the last room at the end of the hall."

Arya nodded. "You've already laid his fire?"

A look passed between the girls and the older girl smirked. "Not yet, milady. We were leaving him to the last." She wrinkled her nose. "He's no lord. He can just—"

Arya smiled dangerously and purred, "It's Teera, isn't it?"

The older girl blinked in surprise. "Yes, milady."

Arya stepped close enough that she could have counted every freckle on Teera's snub nose. When the maid retreated against the wall, Arya closed the distance. "I understand you have three younger sisters and a brother in the village depending on you for their bread." Quietly, she growled, "Do remember Clegane is my particular guest. From now on, you'll lay his fire first, change his linens first, and you'll make sure that his water jug is full of Dornish red. If anyone asks why, even Lady Sansa, you are to tell them to speak to me about it. Do you understand?"

The older maid looked askance and curled her lip. "Lady Sansa won't like wasting the best wine in the cellar on an old dog like him. Couldn't we just—"

Arya tipped her head slightly. "No. We couldn't. Larsa," Arya swiveled her head to see the younger girl worrying the corner of a sheet between her fingers, "Teera has apparently lost her interest in training to be a lady's maid." The older girl gasped and clapped her hands over her gaping mouth. "You'll fetch Clegane's wine and a goblet from the kitchen. If you pay him special mind and look after him for me, I'll be sure to mention your loyalty to Lady Sansa."

"Yes, milady, but . . ." she glanced uncertainly at Teera, who was doing her best not to cry, "I'm afraid of him."

Arya frowned slightly. "I've known Clegane since I was younger than you, and never in my life was I safer than when in his care. He'll be kind to you because you'll remind him of his sister, who died a long time ago. He won't trouble you the way some men might, though his manners are crude."

She leveled a narrow look at Teera. "I once knew a king who was as pretty as a new-minted coin, tall and golden with eyes that sparkled blue like the sea around Sunspear. He was so very pretty that our Lady Sansa pined for him and longed to be his little queen. Well," Arya shrugged a shoulder and glanced up at the ceiling, "until he commanded Ilyn Payne to take our father's head off right at Sansa's feet." Arya leveled a dark look at Teera. "The North makes hard men, and most of them aren't pretty. Here, we measure our men by the weight of their honor, the strength of their arms, the number of their good deeds, and the length of their service. Not by his face."

Arya dismissed the girls with a curt nod and strolled down the hall towards Clegane's room. "Run along, Larsa."

As Arya closed the door behind her, Larsa whispered to her companion, "Who was that?"

Teera sniffed and answered resentfully, "Some low-born nobody that's trying to pass herself off as Lady Arya. Stupid cow's not even smart enough to know that Arya Stark died in King's Landing the same day as Lord Stark."